


The Period of the Long Change

by WelpThisIsHappening



Series: Tripping Over the Blue Line [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-12-18 02:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 124,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening
Summary: It’s quick. One second she’s standing there and everything is fine and then Emma looks up and it’s not. It’s awful. And the lights are too bright and there are too many rooms and too many opinions and her phone won’t stop ringing because everything seems to be changing all at once. She’s never been great at coping with change. But, maybe, if she can just figure it out and stay right where she is, with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, at her side, it’ll be alright.It’s slow. One second he’s standing there and everything is fine and then Killian’s breath catches and it’s not. It’s terrifying. And the noises are too loud and there are too many questions and he can’t find the right answers to any of them, not sure how to cope with everything changing all at once. That’s never really been his forte. But, maybe, if he can just figure it out and stay right where he is, with Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations, at his side, it’ll be alright.It’s another season and another challenge and Emma and Killian are both struggling to get over the boards.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hi, hey there, it's me again with more hockey words. I got a prompt from a lovely and wonderful person several moons ago asking for this very specific premise and this past summer I had some time and some lingering angst and wrote this whole thing in, like, two weeks. 
> 
> As always, it genuinely blows my mind that you guys continue to be interested in this ridiculous hockey team. My whole soul soars when you click on this story. Seriously. Feel free to flail (or shout, people are stupid in this story) about everything and anything on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/). Updates coming on Tuesday and Friday from here on out.

“Theodore Roosevelt.”  
  
“You’re making that up.”  
  
“I’m not!”  
  
“Theodore Roosevelt never came to Nashville.”  
  
Emma narrowed her eyes, twisting her lips and hitching up the kid in her arms. The same kid who, it seemed, was far more interested in the ends of her hair than the very bright lights and decidedly loud noise that downtown Nashville provided.

“Why would I make that up?” she asked, and they’d stopped walking completely now, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk debating the merits of a fact she’d looked up on the plane earlier that morning.

She’d totally paid for wifi.

And Killian had fallen asleep. With a different kid draped over his side and a a knee digging into, Emma assumed, several different organs, and it was so goddamn adorable Emma knew she’d never be able to even close her eyes, let alone get anything resembling rest.

So she’d looked up fun facts about Nashville instead.

And let Peggy keep yanking on her hair.

“I really do not believe that,” Killian continued, Matt clinging to his back with his arms tightly around his neck and his legs wrapped around his middle and they must have looked absolutely insane.

It was, probably, because of all the team-branded merchandise they were collectively sporting.

Matt hadn’t taken his Jones jersey off once in the last week, not since he realized _he_ got to go to Nashville too and Emma wasn’t entirely sure he completely understood what the All-Star game was, but Roland had done a pretty good job of trying to explain it and none of it really mattered when they both realized they were going on the ice for the skills competition.

So Matt refused to take the jersey off and practiced _slaps_ for the past week, some kind of almost slap shot that was, according to both Will and Killian, closer to a wrist shot, but their kid was four and the specifics weren’t important when it was so consistently adorable.

Emma’s phone was going to run out of storage space for photos by the end of the weekend.

"Are you suggesting I'm making up my fact?"

“I’m not suggesting you’re making up your fact, Swan,” Killian said, shrugging to try and make sure he wasn’t inadvertently choked in the middle of downtown Nashville.

“Then what, exactly, are you suggesting?”  
  
“That you’ve been duped by the internet.”

“I refuse to believe the internet would lie to me.”  
  
Killian arched an eyebrow, but Emma didn’t waver, just widened her eyes in response and they were almost inexcusably far behind the rest of the team now. She could barely hear Will shouting – which was probably for the best, honestly, because Emma was fairly certain he’d been talking about some kind of mechanical bull before and Ruby kept wearing a cowboy hat and the whole thing was just kind of absurd.

And kind of adorable too, but that was neither here nor there when Emma had her internet reputation to worry about.

“Where did you learn this fact?” Killian pressed, taking a step closer to her until Emma was pretty sure they were breathing the same oxygen molecules and her heart stuttered when he made a face at Peggy. “It couldn’t have been a very reputable website.”

“Why are you refusing to believe this?” Emma asked. “I swear to God. Teddy Roosevelt.”  
  
“That’s not an answer, love.”

She stuck her tongue out, but he made a face at her instead – a twist of eyebrows and lips and whatever he did with the color of his eyes when he teased her, made them more blue or something equally absurd – and Emma was disappointed she’d lost so quickly.

“I honestly can’t remember,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t, you know, Encyclopedia Britannica.”  
  
Killian laughed, loud enough to draw a few curious stares from several tourists, most of them sporting NHL jerseys, and one of them was a Rangers sweater because that was just the kind of life they lived at this point.

The guy gasped when he realized who they were.

And Emma had to bury her face against the bundle in her arms to stop herself from dissolving into several different emotions and sounds, most of which might have just been generic happiness.

“Holy shit,” the guy breathed, eyes wide and mouth hanging open and Killian stopped laughing when he swung Matt back onto the ground. “Oh shit,” the guy repeated. “That’s...um...sorry, sorry, Cap. That’s...uh...hi.”

Emma lost the battle against those emotions too.

That was disappointing.

She didn’t stumble when Matt slammed into her side though, which was a bit of a victory, and even managed to offer to hold the phone for the Rangers fan when he mumbled the request, staring at his shoes and the sidewalk like _he_ was their kid and had just been reprimanded for swearing – more than once.

It took a few more minutes before he left, more quiet questions and hopes for another Cup run and there might have been an autograph request, but the rest of the team had finally realized Emma and Killian weren’t with them, and the guy nearly fell off the sidewalk when he found himself face-to-face with Will and Robin as well.

“Holy shit,” he said again, and Killian actually clicked his tongue.

Emma was going to laugh for the rest of the night. That would make it difficult for her to do everything she had to do.

She’d made some lists on the plane too – in between facts and absurdly overpriced wifi. She was totally going to expense it.

“Was Cap going to ground that guy?” Robin asked as soon as the fan disappeared, jogging back towards friends wearing different jerseys and expectant looks and Emma hoped he didn’t drop his phone.

He kept shaking.

She nodded, scrunching her nose and resting her arm on Matt’s shoulder, ignoring the way he squirmed against her. “Two minutes for roughing.”  
  
“Does that make sense?” Ruby asked. She was still wearing the hat. It might have been a different hat. She probably brought multiple hats to Nashville.

She probably brought Emma a hat to Nashville.

Emma was absolutely not going to wear a cowboy hat.

She drew the line somewhere.

“Of course it does,” Emma said. “He got that pre-checking look.”  
  
Will snickered, more than prepared when Matt moved towards him and jumped up, swinging him over his shoulders with practiced ease. “That’s definitely true. He does that thing with his mouth. It’s like his lips disappear.”  
  
“Oh, right, right,” Ruby nodded. “Were you going to check that guy for swearing, Cap? Because i don’t know if I’d be able to spin that. Bad press.”  
  
“Isn’t any press good press?” Roland asked, sporting a recently-bought Locksley jersey and several recently-acquired inches from a growth spurt that wouldn’t seem to end and Emma would have bet several thousand dollars and, possibly, one ride on a mechanical bull that there was a hockey puck in his pocket.

Roland almost always, inexplicably, had a hockey puck in his pocket.

It delighted Matt.

Ruby looked offended at the question, mouth falling open as her eyes darted from Robin to Regina and back to the teenager in front of her – a moniker that was recently acquired too – and, at some point, Emma had drifted back towards Killian’s side.

He tapped his fingers on her hip, hooking his chin over her shoulder and there must have been hair in his face, but he didn't seem to mind and she really wished they’d been able to keep flirting.

Maybe she wanted to ground the jersey-wearing fan too.

“What have you been teaching this kid?” Ruby balked, waving her hand through the air and nearly taking out a guy who Emma was ninety-two percent positive worked in the Predators’ front office.

“God, Lucas, relax,” Robin muttered, corralling her arms. “There have been no press-based instructions or media relations. No one is encroaching on your territory.”

“Ok, that’s not what I said, at all.”  
  
“Eh,” Will objected.

“You want to voice that a little louder there, Scarlet?”  
  
“No, I do not. But you were doing those crazy things with your hands and if Cap’s lips disappear when he’s getting ready to check people then your hands develop minds of their own when you’re getting ready to take someone down via press release.”

Emma couldn't mask her laugh, a trend she wasn’t sure she entirely appreciated, and whatever noise Killian made against her neck seemed to roll down her spine and settle in the very center of her, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Will grinned triumphantly.

“I am expressive,” Ruby said. “There is a difference. And I’d like the record to show, as it were, that I am the only one concerned about Rol’s potential for fines when he inevitably takes over the league from you ancient losers.”  
  
“Ancient losers,” Killian echoed, but the words got lost in Emma’s hair and her neck and _his_ hands also appeared to have minds of their own, drifting dangerously close to the bottom of her shirt. With his number on the back.

Always.

Or indefinitely.

Or whatever.

Emma was totally going to ride a mechanical bull later.

And make sure they got back to that facts discussion.

“You heard me, Cap,” Ruby grinned. “Plus this is all your fault anyway because you were totally going to check that guy in traffic for possibly scaring mini-Jones with his brash language and now here we are, late for the plan and the fun.”  
  
“You didn’t even realize we were gone,” Emma pointed out. “Also, is there actually a plan?”

“Em,” Will groaned, but that might have been because of the fist dangerously close to his neck and he mumbled something that sounded like _careful with the gloves, Dr. J_ under his breath. She didn't realize Matt had moved at first. He was very quick. “It physically pains me that you do not remember the plan.”  
  
“I think that might be my kid’s fist.”

“Lucas and I worked hard on this. She bought a hat! I mean, look at how ridiculous that thing is.”  
  
“Hey,” Ruby snapped, but Killian was laughing again and possibly trailing kisses along the curve of Emma’s neck and she really couldn’t think when he did that.

“It is a little ridiculous, Lucas,” Robin reasoned, slinging an arm over Regina’s shoulders and she was smiling.

“She’s committed to the look,” she said. “It’s just...a very specific look for a very specific place.”

Ruby sighed, full of drama and feeling and, presumably, some kind of detailed plan that Emma hoped eventually included food because she was kind of starving and there were, already, at least thirty post-it notes stuck to the wall of their hotel room.

“The plan,” she said. “And Mattie if you don’t stop trying to strangle Uncle Will, we’re going to have a pretty serious discussion about ice time tomorrow.” Matt almost jumped back onto the ground, Roland letting out a low whistle when he rested a hand on the four-year-old’s jersey. “You’re not helping,” Emma muttered, but she was just met with a smile that was equal parts Robin and Killian and Roland Locksley was probably going to avoid any bad press in his career based on his charm alone.

Regina was very likely counting on that. It was probably factored into the metaphorical contract negotiations already.

“Sorry, Em,” he mumbled. Too charming. Way too charming. And she refused to accept responsibility when she sighed too, wrapping one of her arms around him and ignoring whatever teenage-noise he made when she tugged him against her chest and kissed the top of his hair.

“There is food involved,” Will promised, like that made up for everything. “And Lucas’ absurd hat makes a hell of a lot more sense when I tell you where we’re going.”  
  
“Oh God,” Killian muttered.

“Don’t do that, Cap. This is fun. We are having fun. We are experiencing things. Your kid is going to learn something.”  
  
“At a restaurant with a mechanical bull?”

“How do you know about that?”  
  
“Years of experience and how much you will not shut up about the goddamn mechanical bull.”  
  
“Wash that mouth out or I’ll ground you.”  
  
“You are not a father figure.”  
  
“Ok, first of all, that’s rude,” Will said, holding up one finger for emphasis. “And second of all, that is a blatant lie. Your kid wouldn’t be trying to strangle me otherwise. And--”

“--Oh my God, can we just go?” Emma grumbled, and the baby in her arms did not appreciate the influx of noise.

Will glared. “Third,” he said pointedly. “I know I can’t ride it, I am not an idiot. But Lucas can and so can Gina and so can Emma. And the Yelp reviews promised this place was good. Some kind of BBQ heaven where you can probably tell us things about Tennessee technique and how it differs from Kansas City.”  
  
“Is there a Tennessee BBQ technique?” Killian asked, flashing a smile Emma’s direction when Will sounded like an actual predator, growling low in the back of his throat.

“You’re antagonizing him on purpose,” Emma muttered. He nodded, tugging Peggy away from her side and making _that_ face again, slightly stunned and a little overwhelmed and she was, at least, ninety-five percent positive he didn’t even realize he did it.

Every. Single. Time.

She fully expected her heart to explode at some point in the next three days.

Preferably after they got BBQ.

“Oh I’m absolutely doing it on purpose,” Killian said. “And It’s absolutely working. Always does. He’s way too easy.”  
  
Will inhaled sharply, twisting awkwardly so he could get both hands on Matt’s ears. “Don’t be an ass, Cap.”  
  
“Hey, c’mon.”  
  
“Ground me!”  
  
“Out of context, that’s really weird, isn’t it?” Ruby asked, laughter clinging to her voice and Roland’s whole body was shaking against Emma’s side. Regina had actually moved her hand over her mouth.

“And did Scarlet actually just say something about Yelp reviews?” Robin asked. “Why does Scarlet know what Yelp is?”  
  
“You know what?” Will snapped, rolling his whole head and Matt had moved to his side, clinging to him like some kind of koala in a Jones jersey. “You guys can find your own food for the rest of the weekend. I’m done with this. I hope Lucas gets mercilessly made fun of on the internet for her stupid hat.”  
  
Roland whistled again, Matt grinning because he definitely had no idea what was going on and Will was, at least, consistently entertaining. Ruby kicked him. “Stop insulting my hat,” she yelled. “It is on theme. And do not act like you also don’t have one.”  
  
“Aw, c’mon, Lucas!”  
  
“Wait, what?” Killian sputtered, eyes bright and mouth nearly on the sidewalk, and Robin wasn't so much as standing next to Regina as she was completely supporting his weight now. “Do we all get hats?”  
  
Emma turned, staring at him skeptically. His eyes definitely got _more_ blue. “Do you want a hat? And, Scarlet, for whatever it’s worth, the rest of the weekend is already all planned because that’s how All-Star weekend works and you have already agreed to several team events.”  
  
“Did I?”  
  
“Enthusiastically.”  
  
“I have no memory of that at all.”  
  
“That’s because you don’t listen,” Emma said. “Talk to your agent.”  
  
Will gaped, but Regina just moved her hand back to her side and shrugged. “You said yes. I’m not in charge of your life, Scarlet. How many events is it, Emma?”  
  
“And how many post-its have already been sacrificed to the cause?’ Ruby added knowingly.

“Enough,” Emma muttered, but Matt’s shout was louder and _lots_ seemed to echo off the actual, flashing neon signs around them.

Ruby’s eyebrows moved – and reeked of judgment. “It’s fine,” Emma promised, but that was only kind of half true and she was only kind of running on fumes and a few hours of sleep and it was so much better than it was a few months before when Peggy seemed intent on setting several records for screaming and crying in consecutive nights.

This weekend was going to be good.

She was convinced.

This whole season was going to be good. Something about the talent and the years since the last Cup run and Emma was a little selfish because she kind of wanted their kids to see them win.

In the metaphorical and literal sense.

She’d read a lot of internet headlines in the last few weeks.

“Why don’t we head to the restaurant?” Regina asked, but there was a hint of _something_ to her voice and Emma resolutely refused to meet her gaze. Or Killian’s, eyes boring into the side of her head at the same time his fingers traced absent-minded patterns on Peggy’s side.

“Yeah, ok,” Will said quickly. “We’re not that far anyway. Super good, super warranted Yelp reviews. You guys’ll see.”

“C’mon, mini-Jones,” Ruby said, holding her hand out expectantly for Matt. He took it without question.

Regina hummed, eyes still staring straight at Emma, and she licked her lips, letting Roland go so he could dissect Killian’s chances of winning the speed competition with Will and Robin. She didn’t move.

“So,” Killian said softly, as soon as the rest of them had moved halfway down the block. “Teddy Roosevelt, huh?”

Emma laughed, letting out the air she’d absolutely been holding and she didn’t want to be tense. She wanted to be as happy as she absolutely was, but there was still a lot to do and two kids at the All-Star game for the first time, and she should have slept on the plane.

“You don’t think it’s a real fact."  
  
“Eh, if you’re willing to believe it, then so am I.”  
  
“That’s absurdly romantic and possibly dangerous.”  
  
“I’m not sure where I see the danger is involved,” Killian countered. He rocked towards her, fingers brushing over the curve of her jaw and into her hair and that was probably where Peggy got it from. “Ok, tell me the fact again, even if you are taking my side of things.”  
  
Emma blinked. “How do you figure?”

“You’re always team-based facts, love. I’m here to provide information on the city and possibly the state of Tennessee--”

“--And Tennessee BBQ techniques.”  
  
“I’m really not sure if that’s a thing.”

“Better look it up,” Emma suggested, but the words got caught in her throat when Killian ducked his head.

She wasn’t really breathing when he kissed her, was more than willing to suffocate in the middle of the goddamn sidewalk if it meant he kept doing whatever he was doing with his tongue and his fingers dancing across her skin, just underneath her shirt, but Emma swore her lungs actually relaxed and she might have exhaled against him, like she wasn’t absurdly stressed out for the four fan events she had to run in the next forty-eight hours.

“That’s really not fair,” Emma mumbled, and she felt him smile against her, tugging her closer and trying to stay balanced with a baby in between them and there was a metaphor there that she wanted to ignore for several more minutes of uninterrupted makeouts.

She shivered.

Killian hummed, brushing his lips over hers again and Emma closed her eyes, trying to make sure her lungs continued to function and Matt shouted from the end of the sidewalk.

“You’re scaring your children for life,” Ruby yelled. Her hand was still wrapped up in Matt’s, the smile on her face obvious still.

“Absolutely worth it,” Killian muttered, and Emma bit her lip. It was absurd, really, all things considered, after actual years and two kids, but the flirting was still easy and constant and he was probably going to win the speed competition just so he could show off in front of her and their kids and Nashville might be her new favorite place in the world.

Emma kissed him that time. “Charmer.”

“That’s almost too easy too.”

“I’m sorry I took your fact job,”

“I promise that’s not something you ever have to apologize for, Swan. I am curious about Theodore Roosevelt though. Did he go hunt a bear after he drank this supposed coffee?”  
  
“Oh my God, that’s not true either. He wouldn't kill the bear. That’s where we get teddy bears from, right?”  
  
“I have no idea.”  
  
“Some paragon of historic virtue you are,” Emma said, pointedly ignoring whatever laws of gravity his eyebrows were currently defying. “I’m going to tell Liam. And you’re never going to hear the end of it.”

“The fact, Swan.”

“Fine, fine, so Teddy Roosevelt is here in Nashville, which was founded on Christmas Eve in 1779, by the way, so you’re totally off and--” She rolled her eyes when he looked at her, something that was almost shy of patient with just a bit of expectation and, maybe how much he’d also still like to be making out in the middle of the sidewalk. Emma hoped there was no Page Six equivalent in Nashville. “Anyway,” she said. “Teddy is here and drinking coffee at the Maxwell House Hotel when he says it’s ‘good to the last drop,’ someone overhears him, thinks, ‘Wow, that’d make a really good catchphrase,’ and now, here we are.”  
  
Killian nodded seriously, smirk tugging at the ends of his mouth and Ruby sounded like she was actively plotting their pre-dinner murder a few feet away. “You know that’s exactly what they said?” he asked.

“Yes,” Emma nodded. “Without question.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“You got any Predators facts to back it up? If we’re just going to change things completely.”  
  
“The rules switch was your decision, love. I was just sleeping.”

“Sounds like a no.”  
  
Killian shook his head, another quick kiss and the smirk wasn’t so much a _smirk_ as it was full-blown genuine happiness when Emma chased after him. “We’re going to be late,” he said. “And Lucas sounds very serious with those threats. But the Preds did play in Japan once.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“Swan, did you not know that?”  
  
“You didn’t know about Teddy Roosevelt.”  
  
“Because I’m still not convinced Teddy Roosevelt was an undercover slogan writer.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “When did they play in Japan?”  
  
“The start of the 2000-01 season. Against the Pens. Two games in Tokyo and both of them finished 3-1. They each one a game.”  
  
“Symmetrical.”  
  
He chuckled, an arm around her waist and fingers still dancing on her skin, but Emma fell into an easy rhythm next to him when they started walking. That was probably a metaphor too. “And,” Killian added. “Roosevelt was hardly the only present to hang out in Nashville. Andrew Jackson, Andrew Jackson, and James Polk too. They were all horrible people, well, maybe not James Polk because I have no idea what he ever did, but Jackson for sure.”  
  
Emma nodded, stopping just short of Ruby and Matt and she didn’t have to ask before taking Peggy away from Killian so their son could climb up his side.

“We ready to eat now?” Ruby asked.

“Yeah,” Killian answered, and Emma’s smile seemed to move across her face easily. She was going to have to buy more post-it notes. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else sees your hat and makes fun of it.”

No one did, in fact, make fun of Ruby’s hat – although things got rather close when they realized the bag she’d been carting around was filled with those hats Will had been talking about and Emma’s flew off when she barely lasted five seconds on the goddamn mechanical bull.

Regina made it twenty-six seconds.

It was, apparently, some kind of record.

And the BBQ was good, no matter what type of sauce it actually was, because there absolutely, positively was no such thing as a Tennessee way, it was Nashville technique and Memphis technique and tomato-sauce based – or so both David and Liam claimed when they were both, separately, FaceTime’d for argumentative backup.

“You going to actually sleep tonight, love?” Killian asked, several hours and two sleeping kids later.  He grinned when he saw her, tucked under a small mountain of blankets and a different t-shirt with his number on the back, and Emma tried to nod convincingly.

It didn’t work.

Open book or those years of experience and--”Did Mattie take off his jersey?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Killian said, taking a step another step towards the bed and if it weren’t for all of those things that made it absolutely possible for him to read her, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed.

As it were, they operated on some kind of two-way street of relationship feelings and blatantly obvious flirting and knowing each other and Emma didn’t miss the way his step shook slightly, eyes just a bit unfocused and gaze a bit hazy and he shook his head once, like he was trying to get rid of several different types of cobwebs.

“Killian,” Emma said slowly, climbing across the bed. He flinched when her hand landed on his chest. “Hey, you ok?”  
  
He didn’t answer immediately, just blinked once, twice, three times, and he was breathing through his mouth, soft, but challenged and Emma tried not to hold onto his shirt too tightly.

That didn’t work either.

“Fine,” Killian said, voice clipped and Emma’s pulse stuttered when the word seemed to shake its way out of him.

“Maybe Ruby should be talking to you about good press and bad press. That wasn’t a very convincing quote, Cap.”  
  
“I don’t need to be convincing when it’s the truth, Swan.”  
  
“You want to try again, then?”  
  
“I’m fine, Emma,” he said, wrapping a hand around her wrist. He closed his eyes though, shoulders shifting slightly when he inhaled and Emma’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how many hours of sleep they could possibly get if she spent the next forty-five minutes, at least, interrogating him.

Killian seemed to realize his mistake as soon as her name was out of his mouth, eyes snapping open so quickly she was briefly concerned for the state of his eyelids, and his grip tightened a fraction of an inch, tongue darting out between his lips.

“Fine,” he repeated, but Emma got the strong, and vaguely terrifying, feeling that he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Yuh huh.”

“I promise.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Killian!”  
  
“Nothing, Swan,” he muttered, and that was an even worse quote than the first few combined, quiet and not quite articulate and her heart appeared to be trying to work its way out of her chest. “You need to get some sleep, love.”  
  
She groaned, falling back on her heels and rolling her whole head in response and he’d really gotten ridiculously good at making that face – God help their kids when they did actually start to get grounded. They wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to deflect on me.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
“If I yell again I’m going to wake up Mattie and then we’re really never going to get any sleep because he’s going to come in here and we’ll both end up rather bruised and battered in this surprisingly small king size bed.”  
  
“Can a king size bed be small?”

“I’m sure it can when it’s also filled with a four-year-old and his magical, flailing limbs.”  
  
“The magic part’s pretty impressive,” Killian said, lips quirking up and Emma huffed when his deflection almost worked. “No such luck, huh?”  
  
She shook her head. “A valiant effort on your part, though.”  
  
“Ah, at least there’s that.”

He didn’t shake or wobble or any other verbs that weren’t great for a professional hockey player making his sixth All-Star appearance, but Emma wasn’t entirely prepared for him to lean forward, nudging her onto her back until he was hovering over her. She smiled when she dragged her heel over the back of his calf, earning a quiet groan for her efforts and a few curse words he would have chastised their friends for.

“That mouth, Cap,” she whispered, pushing her fingers into his hair and maybe they were both to blame for Peggy’s habits.

That sounded better anyway.

“I can’t think when you do that.”  
  
“That’s absolutely the point.”

Killian hummed, hands moving and hips moving and Emma gasped when his lips found that one, particular spot behind her ear. He twisted, staring at the portable crib that had taken them far too long to construct that afternoon and the sleeping kid in it, seemingly convinced they hadn’t woken her up or scarred her for life.

“You’re going to have to be quieter than that, love,” he mumbled, and she barely heard him over the rushing in her ears and the feel of him everywhere and the king size bed was ridiculously comfortable.

“Then you need to not be such a tease,” Emma countered.

“That’s half the fun.”  
  
“Not when you’re working on borrowed time.”  
  
“Nah, it'll be alright. He was exhausted. And more than happy to fall asleep after a detailed discussion of how the accuracy challenge works.”  
  
Emma laughed before she could consider what kind of absurd pillow-talk this was, but her pulse was still doing something stupid and she’d put half a dozen different internal organs through several emotional wringers in the last few hours and she was pretty positive her right thigh was bruised from her fall off the bull.

She gasped when Killian’s fingers brushed over the spot, and she’d never seen him move that quickly – head jerking up and eyes filled with concern and she didn’t even get her promise of _fine_ out, which, really, didn’t seem very fair.

He moved slowly, like he was suddenly terrified she’d evolved into glass, clicking his tongue when he saw the mark. “Why didn’t you say you got hurt?”

Emma rolled her eyes, well aware Killian couldn’t see her when he was staring intently at her thigh. “I don’t think that counts as hurt,” she argued. “Not really. I was just incredibly bad at staying balanced.”  
  
“That’s not true.”  
  
“Five seconds.”  
  
“Five and a half.”  
  
“Were you counting?”

He widened his eyes, smirk turning slightly lecherous and Emma absolutely swooned – possibly melting into the pillows and the blankets. “Watching,” Killian corrected. “Admittedly a little intently.”

“Only a little?”  
  
Emma shrugged when he glanced at her, and they were honestly so ridiculously good at flirting with each other, it was a miracle they managed to get anything else done. “A lot,” Killian muttered, dropping his head back to her leg and Emma wasn’t sure what noise, exactly, she made when his lips traced over her skin, but she felt his lips move and she had to bite the side of her tongue.  
  
He moved slowly, and maybe even a little reverently, brushing around the bruise that appeared to be a bit more purple than Emma was used to. It was like being on fire and doused in ice water, all at the same time, every kiss sparking under her skin and in the center of her soul, which, really, was just absurd, but she loved him an absolutely absurd amount and loved their life more and she was so goddamn exhausted she was probably delirious.

So, honestly, Emma couldn’t be held accountable for her own thoughts.

And, really, they should have expected it because whatever Killian was doing was probably illegal in several different countries and, possibly, in Tennessee and Emma had to let go of her tongue at some point and they both laughed when they heard the footsteps.

“Da….” Matt said, dragging out the word and leaving off the last letter, a tried and true technique when he didn’t want to sleep and, especially, didn’t want to sleep in his own bed.

Emma grinned at Killian. “Absolutely, totally exhausted and asleep, huh?” He shrugged, kissing her hip and rolling back to his side, and she couldn’t quite keep her anger in her, the sight of an enormous Jones jersey on their son doing something particular to all of her heartstrings.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Emma asked.

Matt wavered, rocking back and forth and looking anywhere except his parents. “It’s...dark and…”

“What? Noisy?”

Killian choked, squeezing his eyes closed, and Emma elbowed him sharply in the side. He wrapped an arm around her waist in retaliation, pulling her flush against his chest and they’d, finally, managed to wake up Peggy, cries echoing in the room and the darkness and Matt was still frozen in the doorway.

“Now, you’ve done it,” Emma growled, but Killian just burrowed against her neck and and her hair and they were absolutely destroying their kid’s collective psyche. “Is that what it was, Mattie? Too loud?”  
  
He shook his head slowly. “No,” he mumbled. “Not noise.”

Killian tensed. And Emma knew what it was.

It was too quiet.

Nashville was, after all, not New York and there weren’t as many sirens or cars outside the window or even voices, people walking by their usually calm block no matter what hour it was.

It wasn’t home.

Maybe Nashville wasn’t Emma’s favorite place in the entire world.

The bed creaked when Killian moved, propping his head up on his hand and keeping his arm around Emma. “C’mere, little man,” he said, waving Matt into the room before climbing back off the blankets to try and quiet Peggy. Matt didn’t need to be told again, flying across the few feet of hotel-provided space and Emma barely moved her arm out of the way in time. “Don’t flail around too much, ok?” Killian asked. “Mom’s already bruised enough as it is.”

Emma scowled at him, but that anger didn’t last long either – it never did when he started making faces at Peggy. “You want me to do that?” she asked, but he shook his head before she’d finished the question.

“Get some sleep, Swan. We’re good.”  
  
“Yeah, we are.”

It was the best she’d slept in weeks – eyes fluttering open for a few moments when Killian climbed back into bed, pressing a kiss to her temple and he couldn't really get his arm back around her waist when Matt had claimed, at least, nine-tenths of the bed, but he made an effort.

And the first of the four fan events went off without a hitch, a very old phrase that Ruby made fun of Emma for as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but the crowd was happy and the chain restaurant wasn’t a jerk about the size of said crowd and all three New York Rangers All-Stars smiled in every single picture they took.

There were an absurd amount of pictures.

And Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers and captain of the Metro All-Stars _again_ and father of her painfully adorable children, kissed Emma Swan, New York Rangers director of community relations, fan experiences and events while in uniform in the hallway outside the home locker room of the Bridgestone Arena.

“Skate fast,” Emma mumbled, tugging on the front of his jersey and ignoring Will’s commentary while he did his best not to dislocate one of his shoulders. Matt was, naturally, on his shoulders.

Killian grinned. “Always.”

Ruby, to her credit, didn’t make fun of the blatant and slightly public display of affection once they settled into the press box, refusing to give up Peggy even for a moment, but her eyes kept darting towards Regina and it only took one event for _that_ to get incredibly annoying.

“Alright,” Emma said. “Let’s have it.”  
  
Ruby tilted her head. “Have what?”

“You going to reprimand me for my bad press or destroying my kid’s minds or whatever? Because I don’t think Peg will remember and Mattie absolutely does not care when there’s ice to worry about and--”  
  
“--Wait, what?”  
  
Emma blinked, brows furrowed and confusion settling between her shoulder blades. “What do you mean, what?”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“This,” Emma said, waving an impatient hand through the air. Ruby’s mouth twitched. “Did you text Reese’s about it too? Should I expect several detailed messages later?”  
  
“Only if they’re about how much David wanted to come to Nashville, but couldn’t get time off.”  
  
“He tried to get time off?”

“I mean, not really,” Ruby shrugged. “Plus they’ve got Leo to, you know, obsess over anyway, so, there’s that.”  
  
“They are super obsessed with that kid,” Emma agreed. “Reese’s takes more pictures of him than I do.”  
  
“Which might be saying something,” Regina muttered. She smiled when Emma glared at her.

“Ok, seriously. If this isn’t about the makeouts, then what is it?”  
  
“You think we were having secret, silent conversations about you making out with your husband?” Ruby asked skeptically. “For real? Em, you do that all the time.”  
  
“Constantly,” Regina added.

“Like. Literally every home game. I’m pretty positive Scarlet and Locksley somehow bet on the total number of times they’d be almost disgusted by how stupid into each other you and Cap are.”  
  
“You know you haven’t gotten anymore eloquent over the years,” Emma said.

Ruby shrugged again. “That’s not a bad thing. My supposed lack of eloquence or how much time you do actually spend making out with Cap. But you guys make cute kids, so I can’t fault you that much.”  
  
“That sound a bit like you’re picking favorites, Rubes.”  
  
“If you tell Mary Margaret then I will do something ridiculous and drastic. And it’s not so much favorites as it is the fact that mini-Jones clearly likes me the most. You can tell Scarlet that.”  
  
“Is it weird that you guys argue about this?”

“I really don’t think so.”

Emma hummed noncommittally, eyes flitting towards the ice and the small crowd against the boards she knew her kid was in the center of. Roland had two sticks in his hand, resting the smaller one on his shoulder as he skated backward, and Matt had one hand in Killian’s glove and the other in Robin’s while Will filmed the whole thing.

Heart explosion, right on cue.

Matt did his best to keep his balance, wobbling despite the hands and the support and the rest of the All-Stars cleared a path in front of him – some unspoken command because Killian Jones was, absolutely, the face of the league even years removed from an improbable gold medal run.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen,” Ruby mumbled, but she had to shift Peggy to try and wipe her cheek on her shoulder, and Emma didn’t try to argue.

It was dumb and perfect and Scarlet was mic’ed up, someone in the box turning up the TV broadcast when the camera panned to the moment.

“Right, left, Dr. J,” he said. “You gotta pick up some speed before you can run.”

Matt nodded seriously, like he was getting ready for a penalty shot in a series-clincher, and Killian’s eyes darted towards Robin before they both pushed lightly. There was no more stumbling. There wasn’t even a hint of fear. Matt Jones, four years old and certain his dad was the greatest player to ever play any sport, moved on the ice like he was born there, which was kind of true.

Roland cheered, both arms thrown into the air and caught on camera and Ruby mumbled _dumb_ no less than twenty-two times while discreetly crying and ignoring her phone when Mary Margaret, presumably, texted about it all.

“You ever going to tell me what you were Morse-coding about then?” Emma asked, reluctantly pulling her eyes away from the ice to stare at Ruby.

She sighed. “Your phone hasn’t rung yet?”  
  
“Should it?”  
  
“Em.”  
  
“I legitimately don’t understand the question.”  
  
“I really thought she would have called by now.”  
  
“She said she was going to,” Regina said, like any of this made sense and Emma wasn’t waving both her arms in the air in a pitiful impression of Ruby and an air traffic controller. “Maybe she got tied up with All-Star stuff.”  
  
“Who?” Emma asked. No one listened to her.

“I mean, that’s kind of a stupid excuse, don’t you think?” Ruby grumbled, and Regina made a noise that might have been an agreement. “She was really interested.”  
  
“She said that? Those exact words?”  
  
“Verbatim.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
“Who the hell are you talking about?” Emma demanded, but she may have been shouting from the ice for all the good it did her and, really, she should have been paying more attention to the ice.

And Will was still mic’ed up.

“Cap,” he yelled. “Cap! Holy fu--”

The NBC broadcast barely cut him, staving off a very angry response from the FCC and several hundred families, but Emma didn’t care about any of that, eyes widening and breath catching and she was still moving her hands through the air when her gaze snapped towards the closest TV.

She thought it was Matt at first – was positive something must have happened, some wayward skate or an All-Star who didn’t get that memo about getting out of the way, and he’d never really learned to stop, and the boards weren’t very forgiving to a four-year-old – and Emma wasn’t sure how much more damage she could inflict on her lungs.

It wasn’t Matt.

And Emma was never entirely sure how she didn’t fall over.

It probably had something to do with Regina’s arm around her shoulders and Ruby’s quiet assurances that it was _fine, it’s all going to be fine, Em_ , but she never really knew.

The whole thing seemed to happen impossibly fast.

One second Killian was standing there, skating behind Matt and the next he was on the bench and Emma could barely see him, a crowd around them and a face that she dimly remembered as the Hurricanes athletic trainer.

Emma didn’t blink. She knew she needed to blink, knew her eyes were going dry and her mouth was hanging open, but nothing seemed to work or respond and Ruby was still mumbling words in her ear.

Killian didn’t get off the bench.

Will had moved at some point, Matt clinging to him with his face buried in his neck and Roland a few feet away, his hand on the back of a jersey with Jones plastered across it. Emma’s phone rang. She didn’t move.

“Em,” Ruby said slowly, but she she just jerked her head in response, not quite a shake or a nod or anything except the absolute terror her whole body was flushed with.

“What happened?”

“I don’t--”  
  
“--Did you see what happened? Why isn’t he getting up? Is he still on the bench?”

Ruby had to use Regina as leverage, pushing up on her shoulder to stand on the balls of her feet, and she nodded without looking back at Emma. “Yeah,” she said, tone clipped and quiet and Emma couldn't think about that without wanting to cry.

She still wasn’t sure she’d blinked yet.

“But what happened?” Emma pressed. “They were...everything was fine and ridiculously cute and…”

She cut herself off, clamping her jaw closed so tightly she was sure she’d done permanent damage to her teeth. Ruby turned around. “What?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”

Emma swallowed, closing her eyes and trying to will away images of the night before and slightly shaky steps and a hazy look that hadn’t seemed quite so troubling when it was forgotten in makeouts and bruises and they’d promised it was _fine_ , just a few days before the Christmas break and a hit that kept Killian off the ice in the third period.

Nothing was wrong.

Nothing had happened.

Emma blinked – and felt the tears on her cheek.

“Hey, uh, guys.”

They all spun at the sound of Robin’s voice, standing in the doorway of the Predators’ press box in his socks and his jersey and he’d never been that out of breath, even after overtimes and playoff wins, and he couldn’t seem to look Emma in the eye.

“How did you get up here?” Ruby asked. “And where are you skates?”  
  
“Uh, in a stairwell.”  
  
“You took your skates off?”

“Yeah.”  
  
“What happened?” Regina asked sharply, voicing the question Emma could feel stuck in the back of her throat. Ruby was still holding Peggy. She wished she was holding Peggy. Her feet wouldn't listen to her brain.

“Emma,” Robin continued, rushing over her name like he couldn’t waste time lingering on the letters. “You’ve got to come downstairs. Now.”

She blinked again. Which, honestly, just seemed unfair.

“Bad?” she asked, and it was the worst question she could have come up with, but she’d never had any media training and it was the only word her mind could come up with.

Robin nodded. “He passed out on the ice. I don’t...it was bad, Em. They were trying to figure out what happened and get him back up and I just...you’ve got to come back down with me.”  
  
“Back up?”

“Lost consciousness for a couple seconds.”  
  
Emma exhaled, body sagging forward and they’d drawn an audience, several dozen eyes widening when Robin walked into the box. He laced his fingers through Emma’s, a small smile on his face when she didn’t do anything except keep crying. “C’mon,” he said. “Scarlet’ll watch Mattie. Lucas, you’re…”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby promised. “Go, Em, we’ll be down soon.”  
  
Emma didn’t say anything, didn’t trust herself to say words that weren’t tinged with something that felt a bit like despair, and Robin didn’t let go of her hand while they walked down fifteen flights of stairs.

He left his skates in the stairwell.


	2. Chapter 2

It all seemed to happen slowly.

Which, honestly, was kind of the worst.

If it had happened quicker, Killian was sure it wouldn't have been nearly as traumatic and he probably wouldn't have realized, with an almost surprising amount of clarity, just how loudly his kid was crying.

It was loud.

Everything was loud.

That might have been the rushing in his ears.

He hadn't been entirely ready for it, was sure everything was as absolutely, positively fine as advertised – but then the night before had happened and the hotel room had wobbled a bit on its axis and, despite how well the fan event went before skills, he knew Emma's eyes kept darting towards him, tracing over his shoulders and his hand and trying to bore several holes into the back of his head because she was absolutely, positively freaking out.

So Killian smiled and posed for pictures and made out with his wife in the hallway outside the home locker room of Bridgestone Arena, pointedly ignoring whatever noises Will made. And he didn't have much time to consider the pinch in between Emma's eyebrows or the state of the world's axis when he was so busy staring at Matt on the ice, something that felt like pride blooming in his chest and possibly exploding in the air around them.

"Your face is doing that thing," Robin said lightly, a few seconds after they'd pushed Matt forward and Killian could still hear his laugh, even as several other NHL All-Stars cheered his skating efforts. "It's going to get stuck that way."

Killian tilted his head. "In permanent smile?"

"It sounds way more sentimental when you say it like that."

"Are you not sentimental anymore Locksley? One kid goes to college and the other one's practically radiating teenage angst and you're just over it?"

"That's not what I said."

"Certainly sounded like what you said."

Robin rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked and Killian knew there was a camera on them, could feel the focus as easily as he'd felt Emma's worried gaze all afternoon and they had another event after skills and, probably, some kind of media thing that Ruby had definitely told them about at some point, but the only thing he was worried about was possibly making out with his wife in a different hallway.

Or their hotel bed.

Maybe they could convince Robin to let Matt stay with them.

That seemed irresponsible.

"It's not," Robin promised. They'd stopped skating at some point, not really putting much effort into any of this, and that was only going to frustrate Ruby and Regina and it'd probably make Emma laugh.

"So where are you going with this, exactly?"

"I honestly don't know. It's...observational, I guess."

"Locksley, I'm going to punch you right in the face if you don't start making your observations more specific."

"That's violent, Cap."

"Well, you're being ridiculous."

"And you're doing that thing with your face."

Killian sighed, but he couldn't quite get the right amount of frustration into the sound. "Is this about whatever Scarlet was saying last night? The checking thing?"

"Nah, nah, this is like, I don't know, happiness. I mean, you were right about the smile thing."

"It's strange how I know what's going on with my own face," Killian muttered, but Robin was already shaking his head and he should have realized something was wrong when his vision went spotty.

He was too goddamn busy smiling.

And wondering if he could find that hallway without taking his skates off. Or anyone noticing. There had to be a stairwell somewhere.

Or something a little more romantic.

"You're being sarcastic, but that's because you keep doing that thing with your face," Robin said. "I'm just...the observation is that you're absurdly happy, Cap and I want to make sure that keeps on happening."

"Are you offering to defend my happiness, Locksley?"

"Why do you keep making this more weird than it has to be?"

"Should that word have been weirder? Instead of more weird. I don't think that's the right way to say that."

"I think it might be both, really. I'll tell Lucas to text Mary Margaret. Or text Gina to tell Lucas to text Mary Margaret."

"You've completely lost me now," Killian admitted, Robin chuckling under his breath when he clapped him on the shoulder and everything went to complete and utter shit.

It felt a bit like falling.

Into a cave. A particularly dark cave. That never ended. Ever.

It was awful.

Killian felt his legs wobble underneath him, only slightly frustrated by the ice that wasn't the most stable surface to be standing on, eyes closing without his permission and the rushing in his ears got even louder.

It sounded like the entire Bridgestone Arena was falling down around him. Or possibly the entire city of Nashville. The minimal amount of oxygen he had in his lungs felt like it was burning him from the inside out, everything pressing down on him and twisting him and Killian wished it would stop.

He wished the whole goddamn thing had stopped several weeks before, but that would have required him to acknowledge any of it and he hadn't done that and he tried to grab onto something, anything, some kind of metaphorical foothold in the metaphorical cave and his fingers barely brushed over the front of Robin's jersey.

His All-Star jersey.

They were standing on the ice in the middle of the All-Star skills competition.

"Fuck," Killian breathed, squeezing his eyes closed tighter and something wrapped around him. It might have been Robin's arm.

He wasn't really standing up anymore.

"Cap," Will shouted. Killian didn't answer. His mouth didn't seem to work anymore,  _nothing_ seemed to work anymore, and he wished he could have come up with a better metaphor than the cave thing, but he still felt like he was falling or possibly drowning and he was only slightly worried his head was going to crack in half.

That would have to wait until after his knees gave out completely.

Matt was crying.

"Cap," Will repeated, a bit more desperate than it had been a few seconds before. Killian barely heard him. "Holy fuck!"

He didn't really know what happened after that – the world seemed to pause and the falling stopped, but Killian knew it was only because he'd kind of stopped too, in the most technical sense, blinking blearily on the bench.

The lights around him felt far too bright.

He jerked up, breath catching loudly in his throat, and several hands came flying towards him, pushing on his shoulder and his chest and Killian didn't know where to look. People were talking, a low buzz he couldn't quite make out and something that sounded like a  _few seconds_ and  _that's not bad_ and Killian couldn't stop blinking.

That was weird.

He inhaled sharply, oxygen still fighting him with every breath, and a guy he dimly remembered from Carolina glared at him. Emma would know. Emma would-

"Fuck," Killian repeated, voice scratchy even to his own ears and he had to lick his lips to make sure he could keep cursing on someone else's home-side bench.

"Hold still, Jones," the trainer hissed, grabbing his wrist and ignoring Killian's wince when his thumb dug into the back of his palm. He pushed up the arm of his jersey, yanking off his elbow pad and throwing it haphazardly over his shoulder.

Roland caught it.

"Wait, wait, what just happened?" Killian asked. His eyes scanned the not-so-small crowd around him, every expression slightly terrified and a little overwhelmed, and that wasn't really doing much to help the state of his lungs.

Or his head.

Shit.

Goddamn shit, fuck, damn.

"You ok, Hook?" Roland asked softly, leaning against the glass and Robin was nowhere to be seen. The lights on the cameras got brighter, Killian was sure.

He nodded, but that only drew another glare out of the trainer he absolutely could not remember the name of, and the whole world shifted again, and Roland looked a little terrified.

"Fine," Killian lied. Roland made a noise, not quite an agreement and definitely a little angst-filled, and Killian couldn't laugh without his head aching. "Not great, huh?"

"You might want to practice a little more before Dad gets back."

"Where your dad go?"

Roland opened his mouth to answer, but the Carolina trainer guy had pulled a blood pressure cuff from  _somewhere_ and Killian was only slightly concerned about the state of his bicep and where Matt was and it looked like they'd stopped the entire skills competition.

"Fucking hell," he mumbled. He couldn't tug on his hair. He couldn't move his arm. The Carolina guy was trying to turn him to stone, he was convinced.

That probably would have gotten the cameras to pan away from Killian.

"Hook, you really need to stop moving," Roland said, and it was only slightly strange to be chastised by a kid who, at one point, would only get on the ice if Killian promised it would be ok and wouldn't melt.

"What happened?" Killian repeated.

"Do you not remember?"

"Roland!"

He clicked his tongue, eyes widening and lips all but disappearing off his face and Killian knew he shouldn't sigh when he was having so much trouble breathing, but his body didn't care and his emotions didn't care and he was already dreading the number of missed calls he was certain were on his phone.

Killian kind of knew what had happened.

And it was kind of his fault.

It was absolutely, totally, one-hundred thousand percent his fault.

He hoped Emma hadn't seen.

That, however, was not just wishful thinking, it was absurd thinking and the kind of thinking that probably led to passing out on the ice again, and he hoped Matt was still with Will.

He hoped, eventually, Roland Locksley would stop staring at him like he was waiting for him to die or something equally dramatic.

"You know," Roland muttered, dragging out the letters and lifting his eyebrows in a way that was equally parts familiar and incredibly judgmental. "I think that might be the first time you've ever done that. It was kind of weird."

"That's because I'm way cooler than your dad. Tell him that, later, ok?"

"Maybe after you stop trying to cross check the trainer with your forearms."

"I don't think I've got enough energy to do that, really," Killian admitted, twisting his mouth when Roland's eyes bugged. "And I'm not usually here to discipline you."

"Ah, well you've got your own kids for that."

Roland flashed him a smile – something that probably would have been acceptable if Killian hadn't been there for every single major moment in the kid's life, used as a jungle gym for years with his own personal nickname and a wrist shot technique that they'd fine-tuned together. His shoulders shifted when he took a deep breath, letting go of the boards to toss a puck in the air and Killian felt a pang of guilt shoot through every single inch of him.

He'd probably have to get used to that.

And it might have just been the blood pressure cuff.

"Hey," Killian said sharply. Roland dropped the puck. "You ok?"

"I asked you first."

"Yeah, but I'm older than you. And at least some sort of authority figure. You've got to answer my questions, ask Lucas."

"I don't think that's really how media training is supposed to work."

"Ask Lucas."

Roland huffed, but his smile looked a bit more genuine and that had absolutely been the point. "You totally freaked me out," he whispered. Killian heard him perfectly. "Mattie too," Roland continued, and his shoulders probably weren't supposed to heave that much when he breathed. "I think he thought you were dead."

"I can't imagine where he picked that up from."

"I didn't think you were dead this time."

"Small miracles."

Roland rolled his eyes and glared at the same time, an impressive feat Killian would have appreciated more if the Carolina trainer guy hadn't done it first. "So, we were skating and Mattie was skating and it was fine and then you were talking to Dad and everything just kind went to hell, didn't it?"

"Yeah, kind of," Killian nodded. He was honestly the worst disciplinarian. He was also freaking out, so he'd almost rationalized it entirely. The trainer, finally, pulled the blood pressure cuff off his arm. "Where is Mattie?" Killian asked. "And seriously, where's your Dad?"

"He's with Uncle Will. Possibly still crying."

"Your dad or my kid?"

"I'm going to tell Dad you said that."

"Good," Killian grinned, and Roland seemed to breathe a little easier, which had really been the point. The Carolina trainer almost looked less murder-prone.

"You think you can walk?" he asked.

Killian nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

He was, however, a great, big enormous liar – which was starting to become some kind of trend and that didn't really bode well for the future or his role as potential disciplinarian for his kids and Killian was only a little disappointed he wasn't setting a better example.

Roland gasped.

"I'm fine, Rol," Killian promised, falling back on nicknames and normal in the hope that if he just kept saying it, it would come true.

Roland didn't look convinced.

"Seriously, Hook. Practice. And Dad went to go get Emma out of the press box."

Killian dropped back onto the edge of the bench, right skate making a horrendous noise when it skidded across the floor, and his pads had never felt heavier. The cave metaphor was back.

He swallowed, nodding and not entirely sure what he was agreeing to, but his heart had fallen into his stomach, and possibly out of it, and probably got stabbed with his skate.

"It wasn't good, Hook," Roland mumbled. "It was super shitty, honestly. And really, really terrifying."

Killian hummed, the smile on his face forced and wrong and Roland was almost  _too_ pale, all wide eyes and curly hair, rocking back and forth on his skates. He totally thought Killian was going to die.

Still. Or always.

Both of those things were absurdly morbid.

And Killian really wanted to see Emma.

He glanced at the trainer, an expectant look on his face. "I'm assuming there's tests or something?" Killian asked, getting himself a slightly sarcastic nod for his decidedly sarcastic question. "I'm not getting on a stretcher. Not...that's not happening."

The guy pursed his lips, pulling in a breath of air slowly through his nose, and Killian tried not to blink. Or think about how much his head still, impossibly, hurt.

"It's nice you don't want to freak out your kids or your wife," the trainer said. That was last thing Killian expected to hear. He blinked. Figured. "But, it's also pretty fucking stupid. Sorry, kid, I figured you'd heard that kind of language before."

"I kind of grew up on a professional hockey team," Roland explained. "I'm used to it."

"Still growing," Killian amended, and it was a pretty pointless correction, but he didn't want to freak out his kids or his wife or the teenager standing a few feet away from him.

"Hook's not going to get on a stretcher, no matter what you tell him. Or call him. He's still thinking about cross-checking you anyway."

The trainer laughed. Killian should have stopped expecting anything to go the way he planned it at this point.

He hoped that wasn't a pattern.

"Yeah, I kind of picked up on that strangely enough," the trainer grinned. He stood up, huffing as he went and holding a hand out for Killian. "There are tests. Your wife is probably already freaking out and if that kid I saw clinging to Scarlet was any indication, this other kid is right and he totally thinks your dead."

"You know your bedside manner could use some work," Killian drawled.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Lucky you aren't on my team, huh?" Killian hummed, only wobbling slightly on his skates, but the world didn't flip, so that felt like a very important victory. "Here, come here, kid," the trainer continued, nodding towards Roland who leapt over the boards with an almost surprising amount of agility.

It shouldn't have been.

Roland Locksley grew up with a professional hockey team.

"Yeah, yeah, there you go," the trainer grumbled, an arm around Killian's waist and a supportive look on his face when Roland did the same. "Alright, Jones, let's make sure your head isn't going to explode, huh?"

Killian's head did not, in fact, explode, but he was fairly certain it was close.

They took his blood pressure four more times, making him follow a pen and stare at the wall and asked questions about the date and several about the current president. Killian resisted the urge to make a Teddy Roosevelt joke, mostly because he knew it would fall flat and just made him hope Emma wasn't pacing in a hallway somewhere, but that second one was absolutely happening and the whole thing was absolutely his fault.

It all lasted forever and then some, a seemingly never-ending stream of people in Predators polos and a few league reps and Killian could barely hear the sounds of pucks hitting the ice because they did, eventually, have to restart the skills competition.

The game had to go on.

Or however the saying went.

They made him take his jersey off at some point, but that had only led to more dizziness and even more concern and Killian was sitting in his goddamn pads and pants, skates still, inexplicably, on when he heard the footsteps.

And, really, he didn't consider all the reasons he  _shouldn't_ have known it was her, but his heart didn't seem to care and his mind, whatever part of it might not be suffering from lingering concussion symptoms, cared even less and he breathed a bit easier as soon as Emma walked through the door.

That lasted all of two seconds.

Because in those two seconds Killian realized her eyes were red and he was slightly worried about the damage she was inflicting on her lower lip, right hand wrapped around her ring and his eyes darted towards her laces immediately.

They looked a little stretched out.

Emma exhaled loudly as soon as she moved into the room, gaze darting over him like she was conducting inventory and, for the first time in the last few hours, Killian didn't mind.

He tried to smile.

"Are you seriously trying to flirt with me right now?" Emma asked, voice quiet and shaking slightly and there were tears in her eyes. Robin was lingering in the doorway. "Because that's really, really stupid."

Killian shifted on the table he'd been told he couldn't get off. The Preds team doctor had disappeared ten minutes before. "Is it working?" he asked.

"Oh my God."

"Not an answer."

"You're an ass."

"Yes."

She let out a watery laugh, body sagging forward, and Killian didn't really have to try and smile that time. "I can't believe you just agreed to that," Emma mumbled, moving towards him and the Earth might have shifted again when she rested her hand on his knee. "What happened to your jersey?"

"Did you not want to see me without my jersey on, Swan?"

"Locksley, go find me a stick, so I can check Cap."

Robin chuckled, moving around the doorway he'd been leaning against and Roland had definitely learned that particular expression from him. "You might have to get in line, Em," he said. "Scarlet's super pissed at you."

"Surprise, surprise," Killian muttered. "Is Mattie still with him?"

Emma nodded. "A little less terrified after several very long conversations while we were waiting for you and several promises I absolutely could not keep, but uh…"

She trailed off, tongue darting between her lips and there appeared to be something very interesting on the ceiling all of a sudden. Killian's stomach clenched.

"Hey," he whispered, brushing his thumb over Emma's cheek. He had no idea where his gloves were. Or his jersey, honestly. "It's ok."

Emma sniffled, turning into her palm and pressing her lips against the inside of his wrist. It took a moment to twist so she could stand in between his legs, Robin clicking his tongue in reproach and Emma looking slightly scandalized, but Killian was a selfish and self-described asshole, and his wife was totally freaking out.

"I really don't think you're supposed to be moving," Emma said, but those words shook slightly too and Robin was talking to someone in the hallway.

"I really don't care."

"A medical rebel."

"With several causes that all point to you."

She groaned, but there was a hint of a laugh to it, smile tremulous and eyes closed lightly and Killian ignored the throbbing in his head when he kissed the top of her hair. "That was really stupid too," Emma said. "And I'm not even sure it made much sense."

"Is your cognizant reasoning off, Cap?" Robin called, eyes wide when Killian narrowed his. Emma bit her lip again.

"My reasoning is fine," Killian promised. "Honestly, Swan. There were forty-seven tests to prove it. I'm not...my mind is fine."

"But not some other things, right?" Emma asked. "I mean...you're…" She sighed, shoulders sagging and tears falling despite his best efforts. "Did you really pass out on the ice?"

"So they tell me."

"Killian."

"I know, I know, love. It's ok, though. Honestly."

"Please don't lie like that. Not right to my face. Not when I just spent the last forty-five minutes lying to one kid so I wouldn't totally freak out in front of him."

His stomach was just going to stay knotted for the rest of his life, he was positive. And he deserved it. He was positive of that too.

"I'm so sorry, Emma," Killian whispered. She pulled back, brows pulled low and worry practically boiling off her and he hadn't really planned on apologizing, but it felt almost appropriate and he knew she hadn't been sleeping.

There was another fan event after the skills competition.

Her mouth dropped, breathing quickening and Killian knew there were more questions sitting on the tip of her tongue, but he heard more footsteps and shouting and a noise that might have been both Will and Roland sprinting down the hallway.

Robin barely moved out of the way in time.

Emma didn't.

And the four-year-old in a Jones jersey that crashed into her side looked positively stunned to see his dad sitting on an examining table, very much still alive.

"Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad," Matt yelled, jumping and tugging on the bottom of Emma's blazer. "You fell over!"

Killian knew he shouldn't laugh, was well aware of whatever both Robin and Will did with their respective and collective faces as soon as the sound fell out of him, but he couldn't really help it and Emma's eyes were still closed.

"I did," Killian agreed, reaching down to pry Matt's fingers away from Emma's. His nails dug into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his wake and Killian's eyes flashed towards Emma. She didn't look at him. "But," he added. "I'm here now and we're all good."

"Good?" Matt echoed.

"Better than. I promise."

Emma's eyes opened – far too green to be anything except decidedly disorienting and he wished the entire room would leave so he could talk and explain and promise, again, how absolutely fine he was and how incredibly sorry he'd continue to be.

Indefinitely.

Maybe after he got some Tylenol or something.

"Where's Peggy?" Killian asked, gaze darting around the room like he'd suddenly realize one of his teammates was holding his daughter.

Emma's laugh didn't have much humor to it, the sound sending a chill down his spine and the knots in his stomach were probably naval-grade now. "Ruby refused to relinquish her hold. Her words, not mine. Again. She's somewhere in this arena talking to several thousand people who watched you just collapse on the ice, trying to give them an answer for why you, a thriving, healthy, professional athlete would do such a goddamn stupid thing and she claimed Peggy made it easier or something about new baby smell, which doesn't make sense at all because she's more than a year old at this point, but I was trying to pace several ditches in the hallway and-"

"-Swan," he interrupted. She wasn't breathing. She was crying again. "Emma. I'm alright. Just waiting on test results and-"

"-Was it the New Jersey game?"

They needed to stop interrupting each other. They needed to be in their own room or their own apartment with frames on the wall and pillows Killian could sink into and he needed to stop making Emma cry.

There were probably several hundred voicemails on his phone.

Killian nodded slowly. He couldn't move any faster. "I think it might have been," he said, not sure which member of the New York Rangers peanut gallery whistled the sharpest. "They didn't...they didn't think it was a concussion then."

"Did you?"

"I'm not a doctor, Swan."

"But you've had concussions before."

"Yeah."

"And you hit the boards absurdly hard in that game."

"I don't know if it was absurdly," Killian argued, but Emma was already shaking her head and both Robin and Will mumbled  _c'mon, Cap_ under their breath.

"Absurdly," Emma repeated.

"So, wait a second," Will said, moving and bringing Roland with him, stumbling along behind him. "You hit the boards in Jersey, which was before the Christmas break, probably slammed your head at the same time and they didn't even offer to do a concussion test? Nothing? That's kind of rude, don't you think?"

"And against protocol," Robin muttered. Emma was frozen. "You better not let A hear that, Cap. She'll walk to the Prudential Center and strangle several people."

"She'll get fined for that," Killian said.

"I really doubt she'll care."

Emma didn't blink, but her fingers had found their way back to her ring, alternating between the metal and her laces. Will had clearly picked up some  _trying to turn Killian to stone_ techniques from that Carolina trainer.

A one-man Emma Swan protection squad.

"They did tests here?" Emma asked lightly. Killian nodded. "And you haven't gotten anything back yet?"

"That's why I'm sitting here, Swan."

"Yuh huh."

"Swan."

"Fine," she said. "It's all fine, right?"

Killian's nod didn't feel quite right, a bit like a bobblehead or a piece of plastic that didn't have any give to it and every single one of his muscles was tense. He was fairly certain his lungs had collapsed at some point in the conversation.

Matt stared at all of them, gaze darting between faces and expressions he was far too young to understand, and Killian didn't think before holding his arms out expectantly. "Come here, Mattie," he muttered.

"Cap, I don't know if that's-" Will started, but Killian jerked his head up and it felt like the start of a penalty kill, down one with only a few minutes left in the third. Or something that wasn't quite as ridiculous as making hockey puns in the middle of a very legitimate crisis.

He was going to strangle that Preds doctor. He just wanted some answers. And to get that look off Emma's face.

Matt bobbed on the balls of his feet, arms thrust into the air and a smile on his face that made it all too obvious he didn't care about what had happened when what was currently happening was so much better.

The whole thing was much more difficult than it usually was, a mess of limbs and not-so-quiet grunts because Killian still wasn't entirely sure his lungs were functioning correctly, but then Emma's hand was on Matt's back, and just below the name on his jersey, and the world had an incredibly twisted sense of humor.

One side of her mouth tugged up.

"We don't need you straining your oblique too," she muttered. "Ariel was already threatening to fly to Nashville. She said the 'Canes guy was a quack."

"A quack?"

"That's what Rubes claimed she said and I doubt she'd make it up."

"Ah, well, it's wrong to fabricate quotes, you know."

Emma huffed, but the tug was a full-blown smile and Killian almost appreciated the arms around his neck and the knee in his spleen. "The flirting thing's got to stop."

"It's distracting me from my head."

"God, you can't just say bits and pieces of medical information like that. It's going to make me go insane and I'm already treading dangerously close to some cesspool of...something. And you're not allowed to comment on my inability to provide a quote in this situation."

"I wasn't planning on it, love," Killian said, but his voice was far more serious than he planned and it was another promise he was determined to keep. Matt kicked him in the shin. "But I do think Red probably meant crack. That makes more sense in context."

"And I don't think she gave a shit about context."

"Were we not going to comment on Emma's inappropriate use of words there?" Will asked, an arm around Roland's shoulders and he was still a little out of breath. Killian rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, Scarlet."

"Ah, that almost warmed the cockles of my heart, Cap. If you're capable of telling me to shut up, you're definitely fine."

"Shouldn't you be back on the ice?"

Will's expression shifted – all humor forgotten and everything felt harder, like he'd been carved of stone and anger and Killian really was the ass he was advertised as. "Are you kidding me, Cap?" Will seethed. "You honestly think I'd be able to lace up now?"

"I'm fine."

"You're a goddamn awful liar is what you are."

"Plus," Emma muttered softly. "Mattie wouldn't let go of him so I'm not sure if Scarlet would have been able to get back on the ice if he wanted to. Although, the world will probably mourn you not taking the shooting shot thing."

"Strangely enough that didn't narrow it down much, Em."

"Did you not hear my speech about the quotes and not caring about words? That extended to the proper name for for All-Star events."

"You should get some bonus points for using the word proper though, Swan," Killian said. She hummed, fingers tracing over NHL-provided stitching and letters and the number that had been on her back for the majority of yesterday.

Killian took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden onslaught of feelings that always arrived whenever he thought about Emma wearing his number on some kind of indefinite lifetime basis. He buried his head into the crook of Matt's neck instead, closing his eyes like that would make any of this easier or get the doctor to come back quicker.

"Dad," Matt whined, not appreciating when he was the one being suffocated. Killian didn't let go, just closed his eyes and took a deep breath and it smelled like laundry detergent and the shampoo he knew Emma brought with her from New York.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted to get the hell out of the Nashville Predators training room.

"And," Robin added. "Speaking of not caring about context or whatever, uh…" He held a phone out, the small piece of plastic and technology vibrating in his palm. "She and Anna have been taking turns. Gina gave me hers too because they were wrecking her battery and I think Zelena was trying to call her."

"Wait, what?" Killian asked sharply.

"Cap, are you kidding me?"

"About Zelena?"

"Oh, you were talking about Zelena. I swore you were talking about Anna and El and probably whatever essay Liam has already typed up and e-mailed to all of us."

"You think he'd e-mail it?"

"You don't think he would?"

Killian sighed, shaking his head and grabbing the phone and Elsa was yelling before he'd done more than swiped his thumb over the screen. "Are you fucking serious, KJ?" she screamed, practically growling and he'd never heard  _that_ tone in his entire life.

"I don't understand the question, El."

"I am going to murder you through this phone."

"Unfortunately, I don't think that's entirely possible."

"Anna's been trying to call you since the camera panned to what was actually a pretty adorable moment before. She's going to be pissed that you answered for me."

"Or you could just not tell Banana that I answered for you. Also Locksley was worried you were going to do irreparable damage to his phone. Did you call me too?"

Silence. Killian's eyes flickered, towards Robin, a quick jerk of his head and he knew it – several hundred, likely, increasingly aggressive and profanity-filled voicemails.

He was going to leave his phone in Tennessee.

"You don't get to call in favors on this one, KJ," Elsa hissed. "What the hell happened?"

"I fell over."

"Fell over."

"There are kids present, El."

"Did he think you died?"

"Yes," Killian bit out, a quiet sigh and not-so-quiet sniffle coming from Colorado. And he still couldn't run a hand through his hair, far too aware of the lack of movement in his muscles and the arms he was determined to keep wrapped around his kid for as long as possible. "Did it look bad on TV?"

"Exceedingly bad. As bad as…" Elsa sighed again, and Killian could barely make out another voice in the background, shouting about hits and history and  _how important concussion protocol is_. He looked at Emma.

She looked away.

"That wasn't the goal, El," Killian muttered. She scoffed.

"I know it wasn't. But it did drudge up some particularly painful memories, KJ. I think Liam's been researching concussion symptoms on his phone for the last twenty minutes and, honestly, everything he finds is just worse than the last thing. And Anna cried, so feel appropriately bad about that."

"I feel bad enough, I promise."

Emma's head snapped back towards him, lips parted slightly and air rushing out of her. He felt worse. She reached for his hand, brushing the tips of her fingers over the back of his palm. There were more questions there, practically broadcasting themselves on her face and he'd always been very good at reading her, but that almost felt like a punishment – five minutes and a game misconduct for lying to your wife.

And for telling the training staff in New Jersey they didn't really have to follow concussion protocol because he was fine.

He wasn't really fine.

At all.

"I love you," Emma whispered, and Killian's stomach finally unknotted. Elsa was still talking. He ignored her. He'd apologize for that eventually.

"I know, Swan," he said. "I love you, too. More than anything."

"KJ," Elsa snapped, Will chuckling softly when he heard the clipped tone of her voice even a few feet away. "If you're going to profess things, the least you could do is get off the phone with me first."

"You called me, El."

"Because I am losing my mind. And you passed out on the ice. That's not a normal, body thing that's supposed to happen."

"At the All-Star game," Will chipped in. "Didn't even get hit."

"Exactly. Tell Scarlet thank you."

"I mean he can probably hear you," Killian reasoned, shifting Matt slightly when his knee slid towards a different organ. He'd fallen asleep. "Scarlet's apparently got superpowers now and can hear you even though he's not part of this conversation."

Will flipped him off. And there were more footsteps coming, heavy and measured and others that were a bit lighter and a bit more  _click_ and  _clack_ and Peggy was not asleep when Ruby stormed into the room.

"The doctor is here," Ruby announced.

Roland laughed. "Are you calling yourself a doctor now, Rubes? Do you travel through time?"

"Don't be an idiot just because Cap is." She held her hand out. "Give me the phone, Cap. El can yell at you some more later because you absolutely deserve it."

Killian didn't argue, mumbling a quick  _see ya_ to Elsa and giving up the phone that wasn't his, eyes darting towards the doctor and the less-than-encouraging expression on his face.

And he smiled when Emma opened her mouth to start asking questions.

"Is it a concussion?" she asked. "Still?" The doctor shook his head. "What does that mean? He was going to win the speed competition. He shouldn't have passed out on the ice."

"It's not still a concussion."

"Then what is it?"

"Ms. Swan-"

"No," Emma growled and Will moved again, flanking her right side. The doctor looked a little stunned. "That's not how this works. Straight answers."

The doctor blinked.

"Em," Will cautioned, resting a hand on her shoulder, at the same time Killian mumbled "Swan."

She, somehow, glared at both of them, a look she usually reserved for Matt when he dented the walls in their apartment with a wrist shot that was honestly almost  _too_ good for his age.

"I spoke to the doctor in New York," the man said, and they really should have found out his name. Propriety, it seemed, flew out several metaphorical windows when the New York Rangers were dealing with concussions and Jones brothers history and there'd already been far too much crying in several different major cities that night.

"And?" Killian prompted.

"How long have you been experiencing the headaches?"

Emma's eyes widened, a size that could not have been healthy, and all the color seemed to rush out of her face at once. Killian's mind flashed to several clichés about  _white as a sheet_ and he hoped he hadn't made Mrs. Vankald cry too.

That would have been too much.

He hoped Elsa called Mrs. Vankald.

"Jones," the doctor said brusquely, and Killian moved enough that Matt grumbled in response. "Has it been since that hit?"

Killian nodded, speaking a sudden and rather difficult challenge and he resisted the urge to burrow back against the kid in his arms. He knew they were all staring at him – equal and slightly different looks of measured frustration and anger and surprise, but his eyes flitted towards Emma and she simply looked disappointed.

"Headaches," she repeated softly. He nodded again. A goddamn giveaway bobblehead. "Since the Jersey game? Before Christmas?"

"All true, Swan," he said.

"And you didn't say anything?"

"I was fine."

"I mean, obviously not!"

It was a bit like watching a rubber-band snap. Her eyes widened more, voice rising on every later and neither of the two kids in that room appreciated the edge Killian knew he deserved.

She took a deep breath, a rough inhale that probably did more damage to her nose than helped her lungs, and Will glared at Killian. He deserved that too. God, he really hoped Mrs. Vankald hadn't cried.

Emma took a step back, stumbling over her feet. She yanked on her laces tightly, gaze darting around the room like she was looking for an escape hatch and Ruby muttered something under her breath, turning on her with a baby in her arms that was probably exhausted after being unfairly woken up several times in the last twenty-four hours.

"Dad," Matt whispered, mostly into the pads Killian was still inexplicably wearing.

"Yeah, Mattie?"

"Are you ok?"

Emma stopped walking. Ruby stopped talking. Killian froze.

The doctor blinked again.

"I think it's best if you spend tonight in an area hospital and-"

They should have come up with a list of all the people Killian was going to have to apologize to by the end of All-Star weekend. He hated All-Star weekend. And the Predators team doctor was quite obviously surprised when his entire training room seemed to explode in a barrage of questions and curses and a phone ringing again, because Elsa may have honestly been some kind of psychic.

It might have been Mary Margaret.

She was probably worried about Emma.

"Just for observation," the doctor said, hands held up in surrender. "I don't think there's any sense in doing much more. Not when you should get back to New York as soon as possible."

"As soon as possible," Emma repeated.

"Tomorrow if you can make that happen."

"So no game?" Killian asked, met with half a dozen immediate glares.

"Oh my God, Cap," Robin grumbled. "Stop talking. Or I'm going to call Anna and tell her that you answered El's call again."

"She'll actually murder me."

"I'd be counting on it."

He sighed, shifting Matt to his thigh so he could run a suddenly exhausted hand over his face. It looked oddly blank. His ring was still in the hotel room. "Observation?" he asked.

The doctor nodded. "It's probably better if you get the tests done when you're home. There'll be plenty and I'm sure Dr. Whale would rather you were there where he could oversee instead of just relying on my hearsay. And it seems your team's athletic trainer is also intent on making sure everything is alright."

Killian didn't really laugh, wasn't entirely sure he could, but he made a noise anyway and Emma rested her head on Ruby's shoulder. "We just want to make sure nothing happens in the next twelve hours or so," the doctor said, doing an atrocious job of keeping his voice light.

"You think something could happen?" Emma asked.

"I think it's best to be safe. When dealing with things like this."

"Ok."

"Why you don't come stay with us tonight, Mattie?" Roland asked. The doctor should have been taking lessons from him. "We can call Henry and you can show him your new wrist move."

Matt nodded enthusiastically, nearly jumping off the table. "And," Will grinned. "We'll order a ridiculous amount of room service and you can't do anything about it, Cap."

"I'd be counting on it," Killian repeated. He looked at Robin, a flash of  _something_ on his face, like he hadn't done his job when it came to protecting Killian's happiness. "Do we have to call an ambulance or can I just take a car?"

"We," Emma corrected. "And we should probably do that, right? Just to...make sure nothing happens?"

"It's a good idea," the doctor said. Killian tried to ignore the crack he swore was visible in the very center of him.

And for as slow as everything felt before, the actual ride to the hospital felt impossibly fast – a string of paperwork Emma refused to let Killian fill out himself and EMTs who were a little starstruck and the room they gave him had terrible lighting.

They gave him an IV, something about dehydration and unconsciousness and how that affected several different systems in the human body, as if Killian weren't already painfully aware of all of those things. The TV hanging from the ceiling got, exactly, sixteen channels, four of which were ESPN affiliates and two more that were CBS Sports and NBC Sports, and Emma kept sighing when she moved by another channel that was talking about him.

She shifted in her chair no less than eighty-seven times.

It was a rough estimate.

"Swan," Killian said, but she didn't turn around, just kept slamming her thumb into a remote that could not have been clean. "Swan."

"How are there not other things for people to talk about? ESPN cares about hockey for exactly two weeks during the Cup final and even then it gets relegated to, like, the twelve-thirty slot and that one guy. Barry-"

"-Melrose."

"Right, right. They don't care. CBS doesn't even know what icing is. What the hell are they doing showing you?"

"You think the entire conglomerate of CBS should know what icing is? That might be kind of a challenge for them. Collectively."

"The only station that should be acknowledging this is NBC and that's because they've got the rights to the All-Star game and you collapsed on their stream or however TV works." She turned around, shoulders shaking and eyes blinking and Killian was only ever going to feel guilty for the rest of his life, he was certain. He'd accept it if it meant Emma stopped staring at him like that. "Do you think we can sue them for sharing footage?"

"I don't think so, love."

She sighed, trying to wipe away tears without him noticing, but that was impossible. "That's disappointing."

"You can double check with Gina if you want. Or ask David. I bet he'd know."

"I've been ignoring my phone. I think David set a record for phone calls in a twenty-minute span, but Mattie was freaking out and I really wasn't kidding about him trying to strangle Scarlet and he was great. We should buy him something."

Killian arched an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Something. What does Scarlet like?"

"Punching people."

"You're no help at all." She deflated when she realized what she'd said, tugging her lips behind her teeth and yanking on her laces with a gusto that wasn't surprising. "That's not what I meant."

"I know it wasn't, Swan," Killian said. There wasn't much room in that bed, wasn't much comfort in that bed, and he didn't really know the rules of an observational hospital stay, but he knew he wasn't going to let Emma sleep in that chair.

And he was never going to fall asleep without her next to him.

Selfish, clingy asshole – catch him tonight on several different sports broadcasts and the local Nashville news.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Moving. So you can sit here too."

"I can't sit there. You're concussed."

"We don't know that for sure."

Emma groaned, but she dropped the remote on the chair and it didn't really take much convincing to get her next to him. If he weren't so goddamn worried about the bags under her eyes and the record she might have set for crying, Killian would have appreciated that.

She fit next to him very well.

Indefinitely.

That was also kind of cliché.

"Headaches?" Emma whispered, a few moments after he was hopeful she'd fallen asleep.

"Yeah."

"Since Jersey?"

"Like the very next day."

"You didn't say anything."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"I hate to tell you this, but you kind of missed your mark."

He had to twist to kiss her, a quick brush over her hair and her forehead and his fingers worked their way under the bottom of her shirt. "I know that too, love," Killian murmured. "And I'm sorry. For all of it."

"I don't think it's over yet."

"Neither do I."

They fell asleep eventually, woken up by a disgruntled nurse who did not appreciate them breaking whatever protocol the Nashville hospital had, and all of them got on a plane back to New York that morning, the entire Rangers delegation pulling out of the All-Star game.

Ruby wrote a press release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Athletes. Are. Idiots. 
> 
> I seriously can't thank you guys enough for being excited about this story and talking to me about hockey and just being generically wonderful. I promise, this is not all angst. Feel free to flail (because, seriously, athletes are idiots) about everything and anything on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

She couldn’t stop moving.

Emma was certain she’d walked the same path eighty-six times now, short little steps that weren’t doing much for her balance, but might have been doing something for her nerves and she felt like she was drowning a little.

Or suffocating.

Neither one of those things were particularly good options.

But the walls in that doctor’s were getting closer, she was positive, and oxygen was apparently some kind of irregular commodity on the Upper East Side that afternoon.

Suffocating.

It was definitely suffocating.

Emma took another step, spinning on her heels and marching out to a rhythm she’d apparently decided on at some point, and she kept staring at her shoes, refusing to meet Killian’s gaze because Killian had only just gotten back to the room after another round of tests and an MRI and probably a CAT scan and she didn’t know if those things were the same thing.

She should have known if those things were the same thing.

She should have asked Ariel when they got home, but Emma’s brain was clearly suffering from oxygen deprivation across the city and Matt’s eyes kept widening, like he knew far too much for a four year old and there’d been turbulence on the flight, which made Will’s eyes widen like _he_ was also a four year old and Roland had been disappointed about leaving early and--   
  
“--Swan,” Killian said sharply, catching her around the wrist. His thumb worked under her laces, tapping lightly on her pulse point and Emma’s shoes made an absolutely God awful noise when they skidded across the linoleum.

“You’re making me dizzy, love,” he continued. Emma narrowed her eyes.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”  
  
“A fairly bad one, huh?”

“Terrible.”

Killian scoffed, but he didn’t let go of her and if her feet had been tracing some invisible path, then he was beating out some kind of staccato rhythm that might have matched up perfectly with her heart.

So she’d really just dissolved entirely into sentiment at this point.

And complete and utter worry.

He didn’t look bad. Really. He looked absolutely unfairly good, if Emma were being honest.

Killian had been skating well all season, not closing in on any sort of scoring record, but there’d been a fifteen-game point streak in November that garnered plenty of headlines and Regina was working on some branding deal that included commercials and Adidas endorsements and maybe specialized t-shirts or something.

It was going to be worth an absolutely incredible amount of money.

Regina’s words.

It hadn’t been perfect, but it had felt pretty damn close and they were sitting in second in the Metro on the other side of the break and Killian was sitting in another doctor’s office and Emma hadn’t taken a deep breath in the last seventy-two hours.

They had a game the next night.

She still hadn’t really been paying attention to her phone.

“You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking, Swan,” Killian muttered, like he couldn’t bring himself to make his voice any louder. His thumb must have had a mind of its own.

“Way too many things,” Emma admitted. “Do you know what the differences between a CAT Scan and an MRI are?”  
  
“Aren’t they the same thing?”   
  
“Shouldn’t you know?”   
  
Killian shook his head slowly, lower lip jutted out slightly and Emma wondered if there was some kind of mass production for whatever tissue paper they put on examination tables. “I really don’t think that’s in my wheelhouse of knowledge.”   
  
“Did they tell you what they just did?”

“I believe that was an MRI.”  
  
“But you don’t know for sure?” Emma pressed. She wanted to start pacing again. Maybe she should get tested for restless leg syndrome while they were in this office.

The Rangers had brought in some neurological specialist from Tarrytown – an announcement that made Killian blanche slightly when Victor called the night before and Victor was there too and Emma half expected both Robin and Will to show up at some point, because she was leading the worried race, but they were both doing a pretty good job of tying for second.

She was surprised Will hadn’t demanded constant updates.

Emma had a few suspicions about that, but she couldn’t seem to linger on one thought for more than a few moments.

“It’s all been a bit of a blur, Swan,” Killian said, another quiet admission that was almost worse than the attempts at jokes. “But, yeah, an MRI. Something about checking…”  
  
He trailed off, lips pulled back behind his teeth and eyes staring at anything except her. His thumb didn’t stop moving.

And Emma was going to chew her tongue in half.

Or start running a marathon in that office. That probably would have been impressive.

“Checking what?” Emma asked, and she didn’t entirely appreciate the way her voice cracked over the words.

“The phrase traumatic brain injury was used several times.”

Emma was never entirely sure what sound she made. It didn’t sound entirely human. It kind of sounded like she was a balloon – and had only recently been popped.

All the air rushed out of her lungs at once, eyes widening and mouth hanging open and she was glad Killian hadn’t ever let go of her wrist, because she wasn’t confident she would have been able to stay upright otherwise.

Her knees buckled, knocking against each other painfully, and she could feel the tears in the corners of her eyes as soon as her mind processed what those three words meant in that very specific order.

She’d bit her tongue.

There was blood in her mouth.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Emma asked, but it came out more like a screech and she’d lost complete control of her limbs. She was jumping, actually jumping up and down, like she was standing on some kind of trampoline and she could see the muscles in Killian’s throat move when he swallowed.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But I’d imagine it’s not very good.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  
  
“I wouldn’t do that. Not about that.”   
  
“I need you to tell me what happened,” Emma seethed, and she’d jumped from _worried_ to _furious_ rather quickly. Killian still couldn’t hold her gaze for more than three and a half seconds. She kept counting.

So, really, she’d lost her mind.

“With the MRI or…”  
  
“Oh my God! No, what happened in New Jersey. I need you to tell me what happened in New Jersey and why you wouldn’t...why you didn’t--”

“--Tell you?”

Emma nodded, stiff and awkward and she was still bobbing on the balls of her feet. Maybe that was where Matt got it from.

She felt like she was a live wire, with especially frayed ends, cut apart and prone to electrocution and she had so much to do before the game and explanations to send out because they’d blown off three fan events in Nashville and Zelena probably wanted to talk, but Emma hadn’t answered any of her e-mails or given Merida any kind of instruction and Ruby had been picking up so much slack, she’d have to buy something for her too and maybe she could give her and Will a joint gift and--

“Swan,” Killian cut in, nerves obvious in the sound of her own name. “You’re really making me nervous, love. Lucas is taking care of things for the time being.”  
  
Emma blinked. “How could you possibly know that?”   
  
And, really, she should have expected the smile.

She should have expected the slow curl of his lips and the flash of something that might have been amusement in his gaze, a hint of blue and _want_ and it had been years and two kids, but he looked at her and Emma consistently and regularly melted.

Or something less disgusting.

Something more romantic.

She really needed to take that deep breath.

“Give me a little credit, love,” Killian mumbled, tugging lightly on her wrist and she moved forward without a word. “And you’re doing that thing with your nose.”  
  
“Excuse me?”   
  
“You scrunch your nose. And your eyebrows twist. You do it every time you’re trying not to show how worried you are.”   
  
“I don’t think that’s true.”   
  
“I can guarantee it.”   
  
She scrunched her nose. And probably twisted her eyebrows.

Killian chuckled under his breath, pulling her hand up and brushing his lips across her knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, not bothering to move his mouth away from her skin. “I didn’t think…”  
  
“Yeah, that seems kind of obvious,” Emma interrupted.

“That’s fair.”  
  
“What happened?”   
  
Her voice cracked again, eyelids fluttering shut so she didn’t do something absolutely absurd like start to cry when Killian looked vaguely terrified she was going to scream again, and Emma’s live wire had, effectively, fizzled out.

She had no idea what kind of metaphor she was trying to make anymore.

And she should have known something was wrong.

She should have known him.

Maybe terror and worry and anger were all just synonyms for guilt.

“It didn’t before,” Killian said, grinning slightly when Emma’s eyes snapped open. “The, uh, the passing out thing. That didn’t happen before.”  
  
“You should mention the mind reading thing to the doctor whenever she decides to show up again. It’s pretty impressive, honestly. Maybe that’s a sign you aren’t concussed.”   
  
“I think that’s what the MRI was for.”   
  
“You’re really heinous at telling this story.”

“That’s because it’s a pretty shit story.”  
  
“From the top, Jones.”

He smiled again, hair falling dangerously close to his eyebrows when he tilted his head to stare at her. He held her gaze for six seconds and, like, one solid breath before he opened his mouth.

“That hit in Jersey,” Killian started. “Was...not great. I don’t think that kid...what’s his name?”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes. “Absolute shit at storytelling. Magren. His name is Magren and he’s not a kid. You’re just old.”   
  
“He’s barely been in the league for three years.”   
  
“The fact that you just used that sentence at all proves my point.”   
  
Killian huffed, but he’d never actually let go of Emma’s hand and she might have been counting that too or counting _on_ that and this doctor had clearly fallen in a black hole somewhere. Maybe that’s where all the oxygen went.

“Anyway,” Killian said pointedly. “He came in, way too fast and shoulder lowered and I think he kind of messed up my calf too because that bruise lasted for, like, a week and a half.” Emma glared at him, trying to pull her hand back to her side, but she didn’t want him to rip her laces and Killian’s grip tightened.

“You know all of this,” he muttered. “Magren got the boarding penalty and they made me come off the ice and they brought me back to the locker room to do tests. But, uh, well, I told them not to. And Victor wasn’t around yet. He would have killed me if he knew.”  
  
“That’s the part I don’t understand,” Emma said. “Why wouldn’t you want to get the test? And how did they just let that happen? That’s not how the league operates. There’s--”   
  
“--Protocol, I know.”   
  
Emma nodded, not sure she could say anything else without yelling it. “They didn’t let you back on the ice though.”   
  
“That was a precaution. They didn’t think I was concussed. I was still coherent and cognizant and answered a few questions.”   
  
“But?”   
  
“But,” Killian repeated slowly. “It hurt like hell and I was honestly a little worried about the state of my neck after getting slammed into the glass like that.”   
  
“That’s not an answer.”   
  
The words came out like an accusation, sharp and a little aggressive and Emma had to keep blinking. She could hear her phone vibrating somewhere.

Killian sighed, an absolutely ridiculous display of right arm strength when he pulled her closer to him. He ripped the tissue paper, sliding to the end of the table and Emma had moved in between his legs before she’d realized what was going on.

She didn’t argue.

He kept one hand laced with hers, thumb, somehow, still moving and tracing out a pattern she was almost convinced he could see at this point, but his left hand landed on her cheek and Emma could just make out the glint of light reflecting of his ring.

She’d put it back on on the plane the morning before, quiet smiles and nervous gazes and she’d been convinced her heart was going to hammer out of her chest in the moment.

That probably would have fucked with the air pressure in the cabin or something.

Will wouldn’t have been able to cope with that.

“I didn’t want an MRI,” Killian said. “They checked some things. An MRI would have just been overkill or something that doesn’t sound as absolutely terrible as that word in this situation. I’ve been hit before. I’ve been concussed before. It didn’t feel like that.”  
  
“What did it feel like?”   
  
He shrugged. “Like shit,” he laughed, but there wasn’t much humor to the sound and Emma’s pulse thudded in her ears.

It drowned out her phone. She kind of appreciated that. She was going to have to buy Merida the biggest gift of all for dealing with everything.

Hopefully.

If Ruby gave her the right instructions.

God, Casino Night was in three weeks.

“And the training staff in Jersey was just cool with that?” Emma asked, well aware of the disbelief in the question. Killian shrugged again. “They don’t have to worry about Ariel killing them. I’m going to lead the charge. With pitchforks, maybe.”  
  
“I think you might have to get those special ordered.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”  
  
“I realize that.”   
  
“Ok, ok,” Emma said, waving her free hand through the air. “Let me get this straight. You get hit, you think maybe it’s a concussion, and you don’t want the MRI because…”   
  
Killian didn’t answer immediately, tongue flashing between his lips, and he closed his eyes before he said anything. “Because we’ve been winning, Swan,” he whispered. “We’ve been playing well and Gina’s got all this stuff set up and Mattie hadn’t stopped talking about that one goal for days.”   
  
“It was a good goal.”   
  
And it was. Really. Between his legs and around two defenders and _that_ had made SportsCenter too, which really just seemed unfair now, but both Matt and Roland had tried to recreate the move in the back corner of the restaurant for most of December.

They cracked a chair leg in the process.

“Exactly,” Killian said, one side of his mouth tugging up. “I didn’t want it to be a concussion. I didn’t want it to be anything, honestly.”  
  
“Did you try and go out for the third?”

He nodded. “They put their foot down on that one. Victor too, once he finally got back into the training room.”  
  
“And where was he this whole time?”   
  
“That’s a question for the ages, but I think he was dealing with something from in between the second and the third. Sean hurt his knee blocking a shot or something.”   
  
“All he’s good for,” Emma mumbled, and Killian laughed under his breath. “Alright, alright, so they didn’t let you out for the third, but they didn’t make you get an MRI or anything more than the, literal, most basic injury checks and no one confirmed whether or not it was actually a concussion then?”   
  
“All caught up to speed, Swan.”

“That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“Me or them?”   
  
“Both of you,” Emma said almost immediately. “Equally and separately. The NHL doesn’t do that, though. If they believed you might have been...there’s protocol.”   
  
“Eh,” Killian contradicted, and Emma resisted the urge to smack his shoulder. He might have been concussed. He was definitely concussed. “Yes, there’s concussion protocol and rules and a whole schedule of things they’re supposed to do. But I was ok when they saw me. Not wobbling or slurred or anything. They checked some things. That was enough. All signs pointed to absolutely, positively normal.”   
  
“But you had suspicions?”

Killian winced, and Emma didn’t think he meant to squeeze her hand like that. “I had concerns,” he amended. “And some decidedly painful memories that I didn’t want to dredge up for anyone.”

Emma blinked, confusion rattling down her spine, and she hadn’t really slept much in the last week, was far too preoccupied with All-Star events and Casino Night prep and there was a trade deadline in there somewhere too, and the few hours of uninterrupted rest with her kid’s right knee in her liver had been the best she’d had in far too long.

So, really, she could almost rationalize it.

And then she realized.

And she couldn’t rationalize anything.

Because she should have known. From the very moment Killian got hit.

“Oh shit,” she breathed, and, that time, she was the one who squeezed his hand. “It’s not the same, Killian. It’s not.”  
  
“That’s true. No one hit me in the back of the head with a slap shot.”   
  
“Killian.”   
  
“I know, Swan, I know, but it’s a, uh, sore subject.”   
  
“Was that another joke?”   
  
“Not intentionally.”   
  
She scoffed, but his eyes were distractingly blue and staring at her like he was imploring her to understand and she _should have known_. “And you’re you,” Emma added, a rueful tone in her voice that might have been how obvious it was that Killian Jones was the entire goddamn face of the league. “If you told them you didn’t want the MRI or the CT Scan or whatever you’re supposed to get, no one’s going to argue with you.”   
  
“I don’t think I have that kind of clout, Swan.”   
  
“And yet here we are.”

He hummed, thumb brushing over the back of her palm and the ridges of her knuckles, lingering just under her ring. The whole thing was kind of ridiculous and a little heavy-handed, but Emma was still surprised she wasn’t crying, so really, the whole thing kind of made sense too.

“Not every concussion is the same,” Emma said. “You know that right?”  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Once more with feeling.”   
  
Killian rolled his eyes, tongue pressed into the corner of his lips, and Emma wasn’t sure how much more her body could take, bouncing between emotions like she was the puck in some kind of elaborate passing drill.

God, that was an absolutely terrible metaphor.

“I thought it would be fine,” Killian muttered, and his fingers moved away from her cheek to trace along the curve of her shoulder and the blazer she had on because she did, eventually, have to go back to the office and probably provide Merida with several IVs of the caffeinated beverage of her choice.

“I feel like repeating myself is just kind of redundant at this point.”  
  
“If I say I’m sorry again is that also redundant?”   
  
Emma shook her head. “Not really. But you said the headaches started the very next day.”   
  
“That’s because they did. I didn’t lie about that, Swan.”   
  
“Pulling at straws,” she mumbled, the words tumbling out of her without her express opinion, which, all things considered, was completely unfair, but Emma kept pressing up on her toes and falling back on her heels and there were tears on her cheeks.

“I was fine.”  
  
“No,” Emma objected. Her hair hit her face when she shook her head again, twisting her neck quickly and, maybe, a little violently, but she was experiencing every single human emotion at once and she couldn’t really handle the look on Killian’s face.

Like the entire world was falling apart.

Or the ice was melting.

She’d circled right back around to drowning.

“No” she repeated. “You weren’t. You...you were acting like you were fine and ignoring something that could…” She couldn’t finish, the words getting stuck in her throat and that was probably for the best because Emma couldn’t give a voice to the worry and the ideas and her lips felt dry.

She was breathing through her mouth.

“Emma--”  
  
“--No, no, no,” she snapped. “That can’t be how this works. I...I watched you collapse on the ice, Killian. You were there and then you weren’t and I’m just supposed to be ok?”   
  
“No,” he said. “No, you’re not.”   
  
“Why didn’t you tell me about the headaches?”   
  
“Because I could still play. I was still scoring and we were still winning and then All-Star noms came out and Mattie was so excited and you were so excited and we were…”

He didn’t finish.

Emma wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

Probably bad.

This whole, entire thing felt incredibly bad.

The door opened, a woman and a white coat and a clipboard that looked _official_ , and Killian’s arm wrapped around Emma’s waist. She felt him kiss her shoulder blade through her blazer.

“Mr. Jones,” the doctor said, flashing a smile and Emma couldn’t remember her name. Ruby had definitely told her. But that was in between schedules and plans and they needed to do something about that one roulette table that had, somehow, sustained water damage in storage.

Emma despised the entire state of New Jersey.

The doctor’s name was Tocorro. Her last name, at least. Emma didn’t try to remember her first name.

“Mrs. Jones,” Tocorro continued, still smiling and her teeth were almost blindingly white. There was probably a medical reason for that. “From what Dr. Whale has told me, we’re dealing with the lingering effects of concussion-like symptoms.”  
  
Emma swallowed, biting back several scathing retorts that were as far away from professional as she’d been acting since they left Nashville. She nodded instead. “We think the concussion might have been misdiagnosed,” she said, and she could feel Killian inhale behind her.

The tissue paper was in shred by now.

“Yes, that certainly does seem to be the case, doesn’t it?” Tocorro asked. There was a forced brightness to her voice, a sound that didn’t ring quite true and set Emma’s teeth on edge. “It’s unfortunate, but it does happen sometimes.”  
  
“Does it?”   
  
Tocorro shrugged, hooking her foot around a stool. “The NHL does its best to monitor head trauma, but there are some cases when things do fall through the cracks. There is, of course, human error to consider. “

If Emma never heard the word _trauma_ again, it would be far too soon.

“What does any of that mean?” Emma asked sharply, and Tocorro stared at her like she was asking to be let into Fort Knox and possibly on the next trip to the Moon. She tried not to blink.

There were still tear stains on her cheek.

“It means that there are signs here that there was, in fact, a concussion and it went undiagnosed. For more than a month now.”  
  
“And?”   
  
“Swan,” Killian mumbled, but she was already shaking her head and ignoring whatever her pulse was doing and maybe she’d run back to the Garden. She didn’t have the right shoes for that.

The door opened again.

It was going to fly off the goddamn hinges.

Victor looked a little embarrassed, shuffling into the room with his eyes on the ground and a goddamn stethoscope around his neck, like he was playing dress up, but Ariel was a flash of red hair and almost palpable rage and she didn’t shy away from smacking at Killian’s shoulder.

“Are you kidding me, Cap?”  
  
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Red.”   
  
Ariel scowled, mouth twisted into something that looked a hell of a lot like disdain and felt a hell of lot like the several thousand emotions coursing through Emma’s veins. “You know Anna called me. Several times.”   
  
“I think she’s going down a list.”   
  
“Should I be offended that I’m not further up the list?”   
  
Killian made a contradictory noise, ignoring whatever Tocorro and Victor were mumbling about on the other side of the room. “I don’t think she’s playing favorites. Did Liam e-mail you?”   
  
“Yeah, was that weird? He knows he can communicate with me verbally, right?”   
  
“I’m not sure he wanted to actually say those words out loud.”   
  
“Ah, yeah, that makes sense,” Ariel muttered, exhaling loudly when her eyes flickered towards Emma. “Hey,” she added. “Ruby’s on several different war paths right now, so you don’t have to worry about anything. At least hockey-related. Well--”

“--Red,” Killian warned, but she brushed him off and for as much as she’d moved before, Emma suddenly felt as if she were rooted to the spot and possibly made of marble.

She needed to call David back.

He’d left several very detailed voicemails on her phone that morning.

After he promised to pick Matt up from pre-school. Mary Margaret was going to get Peggy from daycare. Emma needed to make a list of all the gifts she had to buy.

“Shut up, Cap,” Ariel hissed, not taking her gaze off Emma. “I’m pretty positive between you, me, Ruby and Regina we could get those Jersey guys fired. Regina is already in full-on research mode.”  
  
“Research,” Emma echoed. “About what?”   
  
“Malpractice or something. She’s determined to get someone’s license revoked. I think it’s a matter of pride at this point.”   
  
“That’s dedication.”   
  
“Yeah, well, she’s pissed at Cap.”   
  
Emma nodded, more words and feelings getting stuck in her throat and settling in the pit of her stomach and Killian’s arm sounded like several enormous rock slides when it fell back to his side.”I’m thinking we should all get membership cards to that particular club at some point,” Ariel continued, a glint in her eyes when her mouth twisted again and Emma let out a noise that might have been a laugh, but might have just also been exhaustion and she hadn’t eaten all day.

She’d honestly forgotten to eat.

“Alright, Cap,” Victor said brusquely, and Emma reached back for Killian’s hand before she could think of all the reasons she shouldn’t or didn’t want to and there weren’t many of those second ones. His fingers laced through hers immediately.

“Yeah,” Killian said warily.

“We’ve got test results back.”  
  
“I figured that would happen at some point.”   
  
“Killian,” Ariel chastised, but he didn’t look at her, just ignored the _real_ name and kept staring at Victor like he was waiting to hear his career was over.

Emma counted heartbeats.

There were way too many.

She was sure.

She wasn’t a doctor.

Killian squeezed her hand.

“You should have said something, Cap,” Victor said. “It’s...that was incredibly stupid.”  
  
“Did Anna call you too?”   
  
“Yes, several times on Saturday night. Both she and Regina threatened to sue me as well, but then Regina remembered we’re all on the same team, literally and figuratively and--”   
  
“--Fucking hell, Victor,” Emma yelled, and several pairs of slightly stunned eyes snapped her direction. Killian didn’t let go of her hand. “No one is threatening your medical practice. You work for an NHL team! Get to the goddamn point!”

Victor blinked, exactly, six times, head tilted slightly and a vaguely impressed smile on his face as Emma’s shoulders heaved. “Sure thing, Emma,” he grinned. “Cap was concussed in Jersey. Not bad, borderline, really, but if they’d done an MRI they would have seen.”  
  
“Seen what?”   
  
“I’m getting there, Emma.”   
  
“Get there faster.”

He held up both hands, and she was going to strangle him with his stupid, fucking stethoscope. “At first I was worried it was a brain bruise, but--”  
  
“--What?”

“Emma, seriously, this is not going to work if you keep shouting things at me.”

She rolled her eyes, and stuck out her tongue, _God_ , but she couldn’t actually curse Victor to several different hells and the neurologist, specialist, _whatever_ looked a little stunned by whatever was happening in front of her.

“Come here, love,” Killian muttered, pulling lightly on the back of her blazer and it suddenly felt very hot in that office.

Ariel was texting.

Anna probably demanded updates.

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Emma growled, not turning around, but he really was absurdly strong. And she wasn’t sure how much longer her legs would continue to function like actual parts of her body.

“Yeah, well, maybe I do,” Killian said. His hand found its way over her shirt, moving over the ridge of her spine, and Victor didn’t object when Emma moved onto the table next to him, knees bumping and feet dangling a few inches over the floor.

“Keep going, Victor,” Ariel mumbled, not taking her eyes away from her phone. “It’s really not the worst thing in the world, Cap. You’re just an idiot.”  
  
Killian scowled. “That appears to be the general consensus, yes.”

“Are we all done now?” Victor asked, exasperation clinging to every letter. “Because I’m sure Dr. Tocorro would love to get out of the city before she has to deal with traffic.”  
  
“It’s three in the afternoon, Victor.”   
  
“And,” Ariel added. “You’re going to hit traffic no matter what you do. It’s New York. Don’t argue with Gina like that when she tries to take your medical license, you’ll lose that fight.”

Tocorro’s mouth was practically on the floor.

Emma sighed. “It’s not a...God, brain bruise is almost worse than traumatic brain injury isn’t it?”  
  
“That’s the general term for all concussions,” Victor mumbled.   
  
“I need you not to say anymore words, Dr. Whale.”   
  
He saluted. And Tocorro closed her mouth. Before opening it again. To agree that traumatic brain injury was, in fact, the general term for all concussions.

“I was worried, because of the headaches and the spotty vision,” Tocorro started, eyes widening when Emma’s head jerked towards Killian. He tried to smile. It absolutely didn’t work. “The  occasional spotty vision,” Tocorro amended. “That we were dealing with a brain bruise of sorts, which is certainly very serious, but the MRI didn’t show that.”

“Which is good, right?” Emma asked, the question sounding dumb even to her own ears.  
  
“Decidedly. But there is a reason Mr. Jones lost consciousness the other day.” Emma waited for the explanation, doing her best not to be too frustrated that this specialist seemed to thrive on a bit of drama and Ariel’s nails were going to drive her insane.

“Which is?”

“Post-concussion syndrome and nerve damage. Basically the nerves have been structurally damaged and they’re kind of firing at nothing now. That’s why the headaches keep happening. If the concussion had been treated, we probably would have been able to prevent this.”  
  
Emma was glad she was sitting on slightly torn up tissue paper. She felt her body sag forward, several different weights and emotions landing with what she was sure was an audible thump in her stomach, and she knew Killian shifted before she heard him, a soft rip and creak of the table and his lips were soft against her cheek.

There were tears there again.

“Which means what exactly?” Emma asked, the question shaking its way out of her.

“It means that Mr. Jones suffered a concussion in that game, but it was left untreated and, coupled with still playing, the damage only worsened over the last five weeks or so. That’s why the headaches haven’t disappeared and things took a turn for the worse this past weekend.”  
  
“Yeah, you can say that.”   
  
“This isn’t as bad as it could be.”

Emma scoffed, and she wished her shoulders would stop moving before she was entirely prepared for it. It hurt. Everything hurt.

Melodramatic idiot.

She was still crying.

“What’s as bad as it could be?” Emma asked. Victor clicked his tongue, but his lips twitched when she turned towards him, and Emma could almost _hear_ her own glare.

“No bruising, no lingering damage to the actual skull, no internal bleeding.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“Emma. The yelling.”

She was only slightly worried her face was going to get stuck that way.   
  
“You know you really suck at this Victor,” Ariel muttered, finally stuffing her phone in her back pocket and resting both her hands on Emma’s shoulders.

It was a weird twist of limbs – Killian hadn’t moved an inch, didn’t appear to be breathing that much, honestly, but his arm was pressed flush against Emma’s and he didn’t pull away when Ariel tried to join whatever triangle of _human_ they were apparently building there.

“If this had been diagnosed immediately, Cap would have sat for a couple of games, maybe missed a road trip or two, at most,” Ariel started, and Emma tried not to wither under the scrutiny of her gaze. “But it wasn’t and no one pushed for more tests or keeping Cap off the ice.”  
  
“They’d have to drag him off,” Emma mumbled.   
  
“I think our combined strength might be able to accomplish that. You know that adrenaline kick? Like people lift trucks. I bet we could do it. And El would totally chip in.”   
  
“I’m sitting right here,” Killian grumbled. Ariel grinned. And Emma almost felt better.

“I know you are, Cap, but if you think that’s going to make much of a difference, you’ve got another thing coming.”  
  
“So what happens now?” Emma muttered, and eventually, she was sure, she’d run out of questions. Maybe when she went to sleep.

Killian sat up straighter, shoulders rolling back and chin jutted out and Emma had never seen that look before.

She’d seen worry and fear and concern, occasionally directed at her because he was a great, big overprotective _idiot_ who had spent most of the night pacing in a hospital room when Peggy was born. She’d seen disappointment and frustration and anger because no one was more competitive than Killian Jones and no one wanted to impress his kids more.

No one wanted to win more than Killian Jones.

They’d been winning.

And he’d already seen what concussions could do to a hockey career first-hand.

“No skating,” Tocorro answered, tone clipped and professional and Victor was staring at the ground again. Ariel squeezed her eyes closed. “Nothing. No ice. No practice. No...any of it. For at least three weeks. Minimum.”  
  
“Minimum,” Killian repeated.

“Minimum. I’d lean more towards a full month, honestly. You’ve been hit since the initial injury, Mr. Jones. You’ve got to give your body some time to recover.”  
  
“But that’s just practice. Right?”   
  
“That’s no skating,” Tocorro corrected, and Emma’s eyes widened when she saw Killian all but deflate next to her. She kissed his shoulder. She couldn’t reach his lips. His whole head had drooped forward. “I didn’t say anything returning to practice.”   
  
“How long?”   
  
“Cap,” Ariel wavered, but his eyes flashed and he looked at Emma. And she realized, rather suddenly with a sinking feeling that felt a bit like several different universes ending, she’d never seen Killian hurt.

Not really.

“How long?” Killian asked again.

“No practice until mid-March, at the earliest,” Victor said. “Maybe some solo skate closer to the deadline if the symptoms don’t return.”

“Games?”  
  
“Cap.”   
  
“Games?”

Victor sighed, rocking back on his heels and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Back by playoffs,” he shrugged. “Maybe.”  
  
“Maybe?” Killian balked, both Emma and Ariel moving to keep him from jumping off the table.

“It was misdiagnosed, Cap. We all fucked up and we should have known what was going on with you, but you should have said something about the headaches. You shouldn’t have still been playing.”

Emma didn’t mean to make whatever sound seemed to fly out of her – a mix of a groan and a scoff and her own sigh – and she felt Victor’s disbelieving stare on the back of her head. Tocorro probably wanted to study her right there.

Killian looked at her when the noise seemed to linger in the air around them, an apologetic look that was bigger than that because there’d been talk about a Cup run and possibility and he couldn’t get on the ice anymore.

Not for three weeks. At least.

“It’s not the full season,” Emma whispered, like that made a difference.

Killian’s expression didn’t change. “True.”

It was a lie. Was a pretty terrible lie, honestly, when his eyes kept darting across Emma’s face like he was looking for some guarantee that this would be fine or better or she wasn’t so disappointed she was sure she was aching with it.

She should have known.

Her phone started ringing.

There was more talking, Tocorro explaining things about the brain that Emma couldn’t even begin to understand, all the reasons it was so important to _take it easy_ and _maybe stay away from the Garden for a little while_ , but that was like trying to tell a bird it couldn’t fly or something equally ridiculous and maybe it was a bit like telling Matthew Jones that his dad wouldn’t be playing for several weeks because that was absolutely worse than anything else they’d done...ever.

Mary Margaret tried to get them to stay for dinner.

“It’s fine,” Emma promised, but the lie was so obvious it should have come with flashing lights and sound effects.

And she knew her smile didn’t reach her eyes the rest of the night, an absolutely devastated and exhausted four-year-old between her and Killian in the middle of their bed.

It didn’t get much better the next day either, a to-do-list that seemed to grow by the moment and a flustered assistant who, at that point, probably deserved an Edible Arrangement, like, every day of the week.

Possibly twice on Sunday.

With the chocolate add ons. Or a stuffed animal. Or something.

Emma’s desk phone kept lighting up, a mess of colors that wasn’t doing much for her blood pressure, and no one had taken care of the roulette table.

She needed to get out of her office. She needed to get downstairs because it wasn’t a press conference, _per se_ , but there was a game that night and an announcement and the New York tabloids would have several different field days if Killian Jones wasn’t on the roster without an explanation.

“This is the explanation,” Ruby had explained earlier, and she’d brought Emma hot chocolate. And a croissant. “Cap said you didn’t eat much yesterday.”  
  
“He needs to stop gossiping,” Emma grumbled. She took the croissant anyway.

“It’s not gossip. It’s worry. Because you’ve got a million things to do and now so does he.”  
  
“That’s not true at all. He’s got negative one million things to do. Doctor’s orders.”   
  
“You know what I meant.”

Emma sighed, croissant crumbs landing on her legs, and she did know, was well aware of how little sleep Killian had gotten the night before, flat on his back with Matt curled against his side and an arm flung over his stomach and that endorsement deal had probably fallen apart.

It would after the explanation.

Emma was so busy retreating back into vaguely depressing memories, Nashville and those facts feeling like a lifetime ago, that she didn’t hear the footsteps or the knock and Mary Margaret didn’t really need to knock.

On, like, anything ever.

“Merida said you were probably still up here,” Mary Margaret said softly. She had a cup in her hand too.

“Did you and Ruby coordinate that?” Emma asked.

“Not at all, if you can believe.”  
  
“I can, actually.”   
  
Mary Margaret smiled, stepping into the office and glancing around at the not-so-small explosion of team merchandise and post-it notes. “And,” Emma continued. “I really shouldn’t be up here. I should be downstairs. Loitering.”   
  
“I don’t think it’s loitering if you’re there to support your husband. Ruby told me about the presser,” Mary Margaret explained before Emma could ask. “So, technically, we did coordinate this wave of consistent support, but not the hot chocolate onslaught.”   
  
“That sound kind of violent.”   
  
“That’s the opposite of what we’re trying to do, honestly.”

“They’re going to ask a ton of questions.”  
  
“Who?”

Emma shrugged. “Everyone. Media and probably several dozen league reps and then media again and maybe Mattie.”  
  
“Was he upset?”

“Yeah,” Emma mumbled. “But Killian was good. I mean...as good as could be expected, I guess. Explained about getting hit and getting hurt and it totally sucked, but we did ok, I think. He kind of cried himself to sleep. God, that sounds horrible when I say it like that.”  
  
“No, it doesn’t,” Mary Margaret countered, handing over the hot chocolate cup and sinking into the one chair that wasn’t filled with paperwork. “You want to tell me what’s really going on with you now, though?”

“You know. Killian’s concussed and passing out on All-Star ice and Mattie spent most of last night crying, which I think may have actually been worse than the no-skating for three weeks, minimum, decree and now Killian’s got to answer questions and Ruby’s got to release official statements and I think he actually turned off his phone at some point and, oh, shit, we didn’t tell the Vankalds.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“I haven’t...I’ve been ignoring my phone too and, can you tell David I'm sorry for not listening to any of his voicemails?”   
  
Mary Margaret’s laugh was shaky and slightly watery, but her smile was genuine and she’d gotten Emma hot chocolate. Ruby had gotten her hot chocolate. “He understands,” Mary Margaret promised.

“You guys are other level.”  
  
“We’re your friends, Emma.”   
  
“Other level.”

Mary Margaret shook her head – nose crinkled, and maybe that was where Emma learned it. And she was almost angry she hadn’t realized before. “Shouldn’t you be at school?” Emma asked. “Molding young minds or whatever?”

The silence in her office was deafening.

Almost silence – her cell phone kept making noise.

“Reese’s,” Emma pressed. “Did you blow off school to come cater to my emotions?”  
  
“It sounds absurd when you ask it like that.”   
  
“Yes or no question.”   
  
“I took a half a day,” Mary Margaret answered. “As soon as Rubes told me they were going to make an official announcement about Killian’s injury.”   
  
Emma was hopeful, eventually, she’d stop crying. But there was rapidly cooling hot chocolate on her desk and she needed to get out of her office and Mary Margaret’s hand was warm when it landed on hers.

“It’s going to be ok,” she said.

Emma shook her head. “You don’t know that. This is...he didn’t say anything, Reese’s. Almost a full month and all those games and those hits and do you think that’s why he wouldn’t drop gloves with that guy in Tampa?”  
  
“You should probably ask him that.”   
  
“He already didn’t tell me this. I thought...that’s not how we operate. Not anymore.”   
  
“I don’t think he was lying on purpose,” Mary Margaret reasoned. “And certainly not to try and hurt you. The opposite, in fact.”   
  
“I know,” Emma grumbled, twisting her laces between her fingers. “I know. And I...I almost get it. I do. Everything that happened with Liam and he’s never going to be over that, I don’t expect him to be, but this is...what if it was worse and I didn’t ever notice?”

Mary Margaret blinked. Emma bit her lip.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma said. She nearly knocked over hot chocolate, waving her hands through the air in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

But Mary Margaret had taken a half day and she’d offered them dinner the night before and, with the absolute exception of the professional hockey player she was married to who, at that moment was explaining _everything_ to a media horde in front of his locker, no one knew Emma better.

“This is not your fault,” Mary Margaret said, an edge in her voice that was almost out of character. “You are not a mind reader.”  
  
“I should have known. I should have known something was wrong.”   
  
“You can’t think that.”   
  
“Too late.”   
  
“That is not how this works, Emma. You can’t blame yourself because something went wrong. Something that, by the way, is a very normal hockey injury.”   
  
“So long as it’s diagnosed the right way,” Emma argued, and she was going to miss the entire goddamn presser. She hadn’t had any of her hot chocolate. “I knew it was bad, Reese’s. I knew...the night before skills, we were in the hotel and something was wrong. He kind of wobbled and shook a little and I should have done something.”

“What could you have done?”  
  
Emma didn’t have an answer. She kept replaying that very specific question on loop, trying to come up with _something_ , anything she could have done or said or noticed and she couldn’t come up with a single reason that didn’t make her feel like complete and utter shit.

“Something.”  
  
“You couldn’t teleport to New Jersey, Emma. You couldn’t be on the road in the last series. You probably would have gotten fined if you tried to get on the ice and stop that guy in Tampa from doing whatever he was trying to do.”   
  
Emma’s laugh grated on her ears, but she almost meant the smile on her face. “That was actually kind of funny, Reese’s.”

“He thinks the entire universe rotates around you. He doesn’t think any of this is your fault,” Mary Margaret said intently, and she’d never moved her hand. “You know he doesn’t.”  
  
“Isn’t that worse?”

Mary Margaret opened her mouth, and Emma didn’t know if she wanted the hope speech, but her cell phone vibrated almost violently and she was sure it was either Ruby or Merida wondering where she was and why she wasn’t downstairs.

It wasn’t either of them.

“Emma Swan?” a clipped voice asked on the other end, and Emma’s eyes darted to Mary Margaret out of instinct.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Can I help you?”

“My name’s Tink Glas. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for a few days, but you’ve been dodging my calls it seems.”  
  
“I...I’m sorry, Ms. Glas, who exactly do you work for?”

“Tink, please. And it’s understandable of course,” she said, ignoring Emma’s question completely. “What with everything that’s been going on with your husband, but I’ve heard it’s not a full-season lost, is it?”  
  
“I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to our team’s media relations department if you’re looking for a quote.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes snapped up, and Emma nearly yanked the phone away from her ear when she was met with a laugh that could only be described as fairy-esque. She might have been dreaming.

“Oh that was good,” Tink said, still laughing slightly. “And I’m certainly not looking for a quote. I’d get that from Regina if I needed it.”  
  
Emma hadn’t experienced any of those adrenaline rushes that Ariel had been talking about the day before, but she was suspicious she was at the moment, certain she could lift her desk with one hand, fueled solely on the rush of frustration moving through her. And it took, exactly, seven seconds for her mind to catch up.

“You’re the one Ruby and Gina were talking about,” Emma said, and Tink laughed again. “I don’t...if you’re not media, who do you work for and why were you trying to talk to me?”

“I work for the league.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“The league,” Tink repeated, and Emma scowled at open air. “The one that runs this whole hockey thing.”   
  
“And you want to talk to me because…”

“I’ve seen the work you’ve done in New York over the last few seasons. It’s impressive, but it’s contained. It’s focused. You could be doing so much more with a bigger audience to work for. You could be affecting the fanbase on an international level.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”

That was a lie too.

The presser was probably over by now.

“I work for a branch of the league offices in Toronto,” Tink said, like she hadn’t already said that enough already. “The league-wide community relations office to be specific. The one that tries to build the brand, to get kids on the ice, to work with Adidas to lower concussion rates in youth hockey.” Emma scoffed, but Tink wasn’t done. “And, like I said, we’ve noticed the kind of work you’ve done in New York. We think you’d be an asset a little further north.”  
  
“If I say I still don’t understand are you going to laugh at me?”

She did. Mary Margaret’s hand tightened around Emma’s.

“The reason I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” Tink said lightly. “And even going so far as to get your personal number from Regina and try and talk to Ruby is because I’m offering you a job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for clicking and reading and feeling feels. I realize I never mentioned this before either, but time-wise, this is the 2022-23 season. So Matt's four, Peggy's one and change, Roland's an angst-filled teenager and Henry is a freshman in college, which is why he wasn't at All-Star weekend. He'll be back soon. 
> 
> Feel free to flail about everything and anything on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/).


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you even supposed to be here?”

Killian arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly on the bench and he couldn’t actually roll his eyes fast enough when Robin’s widened, worry practically coming off him in waves. It was probably doing damage to the ice. “I am on IR, Locksley,” Killian said, doing his best to keep his voice even.

There were, after all, kids on that ice.

“IR,” Killian repeated when Robin kept staring him like that wasn’t an actual thing. “Not dead.”

Robin’s eyes, somehow, got even bigger and Killian rolled his whole head in response. They’d made it official two days before –after the press conference that wasn’t really a press conference because all the questions were just the same thing over and over, _when are you coming back_ and _how long have you been injured_ and _don’t the Rangers care about head trauma_ and Killian wished they’d stop using that word.

He wished Emma had showed up at the press conference that absolutely was not a press conference.

It might have been a bit closer to torture.

But that felt dramatic to say out loud.

And Emma had enough to worry about without having to also worry about standing in the corner of the locker room while Killian tried to smile and not notice that every single reporter asked him the same question. She needed to worry about that roulette table and eating and he kept reminding Ruby to remind Emma to eat and Ruby might have rolled her eyes more in the last few days than Killian.

It was impressive.

It was also pretty goddamn annoying, but Killian knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on in that particular argument and mostly he was just pissed off because an indefinite IR stint felt a bit like a death sentence.

He was, probably, the most dramatic person in all five boroughs.

“I’m not suggesting you’re dead,” Robin said evenly, digging the toe of his skate into the ice. “I’m just suggesting that maybe you aren’t supposed to linger.”

Killian blinked, and he’d lost complete control of his eyebrows and his emotions and, maybe, his life, but he was hopeful that last one was getting better and he’d really wanted Emma to be in the back corner of the locker room when he answered the same question, just worded differently, forty-seven times.

Dramatic and selfish and several other vaguely horrible adjectives that mostly just focused on how much he’d been ignoring his phone in the last few days and ignoring the worry lingering in the pit of his stomach and, possibly, the spaces between his ribs and it kind of felt like he was made of the feeling at that point.

Indefinite was not part of the schedule.

Indefinite was expansive and never-ending and the season had been going well, not _perfect_ , but enough and Matt was still laughing on the ice because Matt wanted to live on the ice and Killian had no idea when he was going to get back on it.

“Cap,” Robin hissed, making it almost _too_ obvious it was not the first time he’d tried to get Killian’s attention.

He blinked again.

He was some kind of blinking machine – fueled solely on worry. And maybe fear. God, that was worse.

“Yeah,” Killian said brusquely, sitting up straighter like that would make him appear more interested or more enthused and they had mostly staged walk-throughs during practice, but no one seemed all that intent on getting off the ice and even Arthur kept glancing at Killian like he was some sad, broken thing who had absolutely fucked up.

He should have been writing these things down.

They were so dramatic they were almost poetic.

Robin laughed, eyes closed and shoulders shaking, and that was not at all what Killian expected.

And that seemed to be a trend too.

“What the hell is your problem right now?” Killian asked sharply, Robin’s eyes snapping open and immediately darting towards Will and Killian was sure his eyes were going to get stuck mid-roll. That wouldn’t help him beat Ruby in whatever unspoken competition they were staging.

He hoped she remembered to make Emma eat lunch.

That roulette table was driving her insane.

“Are you under the impression that I genuinely believe you’re dead?” Robin asked. Killian groaned and sighed, a mix of sounds that scratched at the inside of his throat when his whole body sagged forward, but Robin didn’t waver and Will was far too busy practicing breakaways with Matt and Roland to be worried about this conversation that made no sense at all.

“No,” Killian said.

“No?”

“Speak in actual, real sentences, Locksley, please. Why don’t you think I should be here?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That is exactly what you said!”

“It’s not, Cap,” Will argued, flashing Matt a grin when he dusted the top of his skates with ice. “You’ve got to be faster, Dr. J. Otherwise you’re going to deal with ice-type repercussions.”

“Scarlet, he’s four. He does not understand what the word repercussions means.”

“Do you?”

Killian groaned, and it probably should have been obvious as soon as he got there.

And, really, he couldn’t blame them.

He knew he’d absolutely, positively terrified both of them equally and efficiently and that second one might not have been the right word, but Killian wasn’t really sleeping through the night and he knew Emma wasn’t either and they both kept staring at the ceiling and opposite walls and that worry in between his ribs felt like several dozen weights.

It was probably warping all of his internal organs.

That was an absolutely disgusting thought.

The first game after All-Stars wasn’t bad. It was, actually, almost kind of fun, sitting in the team box with Matt and Mary Margaret and David and there’d been yelling and cheering and Phillip had scored twice and they beat the Leafs easily.

Matt was _thrilled_ by the whole thing, talking a mile a minute in the restaurant after and explaining to anyone who would listen how good it was that Arthur had challenged that one offsides because it _was_ offsides, but he couldn’t really say the word _challenge_ and there was an extra ‘w’ in there every time he shouted it that did something peculiar to Killian’s heart.

It was good.

Or, it was as good as recently sent to the IR Killian Jones could have expected it to be, but then Matt asked when he’d be back and they’d gone over this, had dealt with tears and a sound that Killian was certain would echo in between his ears for the rest of his life and he was still a little concerned that Emma needed stitches for whatever she’d done to her lower lip during that whole conversation.

They went through it again, another round of tears and confusion and _that goddamn sound_ and Killian got, exactly, forty-two minutes of sleep somewhere in the realm of four in the morning once he was sure Emma’s breathing had evened out.

Because he didn’t have an answer and it scared his kid, but it _petrified_ him and Killian wasn’t sure he knew what happened in a life where there wasn’t hockey.

So, two days later, he offered to pick Matt up from school because he couldn’t practice and didn’t know what else to do and Emma’s eyes widened slightly before she nodded and mumbled _thanks_ , pressing a kiss to his cheek before dealing with roulette tables and an overworked assistant and she probably didn’t eat lunch.

They somehow ended up back at the Garden – for a slew of reasons that might have been how much Killian wanted to see Emma because he was, absolutely, a selfish asshole, but also might have been because he knew there was practice before a two-game homestand and the last five days had been the longest he’d been off the ice since he hurt his hand.

He didn’t think anyone realized that.

He should have known Robin and Will would realize that.

“That was heavy-handed,” Killian grumbled, but Will chuckled under his breath and the stick he’d given Matt was almost twice his height. “Where’d you even get that stick?”

Will shrugged. “Somewhere in the corner of the bench. It might be Arthur’s, honestly.”

“He’ll be pissed you stole it.”

“We’re borrowing it. We’ve got every intention of giving it back, don’t we, Dr. J?”

Matt nodded enthusiastically, nearly losing his balance in the process and Roland had started practicing snapshots on his own. He’d scored on Jeff twice already. “Yeah, yeah,” Matt said quickly. “Coach doesn’t mind! He thinks I’m really good! He said I could start when I play too.”

“That so?” Killian asked, but he was a little worried about those internal organs again and Will’s eyes kept flashing to Robin. Their intervention was not going as planned.

“It is painfully adorable that your kid calls Arthur coach,” Will said. “Makes my whole soul burst into rainbows.”

“Well, that’s disgusting. You should have your soul checked out.”

“That’s rude, Cap.”

“And you’re still being incredibly heavy-handed. Plus, he couldn’t really say Arthur before and then coach just stuck and—“

“—And that makes Arthur’s soul burst into several rainbows,” Robin finished. “Plus Guinevere is absolutely charmed by the whole thing. I think she tears up every time she sees Matt.”

“Is G here?” Matt called, trying to stare at Killian and Robin at the same time and they really needed to work on tighter turns when he was on skates. He was going to fall over. Sooner rather than later.

Killian wasn’t sure Emma would be able to deal with that.

Killian wasn’t sure _he’d_ be able to deal with that.

“Not now, kid,” Killian answered, crooking a finger and laughing slightly when Matt collided softly with the boards. “You going to score on Jeff, yet?”

Matt’s eyes practically lit up, excitement on his face and possibly rainbows shooting out of Killian’s soul or something equally absurd, but he’d never seen another kid who loved the ice more than his kid.

God, he wanted to get on the ice again.

“Can I?” Matt shouted, and Will groaned dramatically behind him.

He held both hands in the air, crouched slightly as he skated backwards – so he wouldn’t land on his back when Matt inevitably slammed into his chest and he might have been four years old with a getting-better-by-the-day vocabulary and diction, but Matthew Jones was already incredibly fast, even with a stick that was almost comically large in his hand.

“Would I leave you hanging like that, Dr. J?” Will balked, sliding back until he was just on the edge of the far circle and Matt didn’t fall when he turned on the spot. Robin let out a low whistle. “C’mon, man, we don’t play the game like that. We play to win and we play to completely decimate Jeff in net.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Jeff sighed. He pushed out of his circle, moving down the ice with a hand on Roland’s shoulders and they were both kicking pucks as they moved.

“There had to be a more efficient way to do that,” Killian said. Jeff shrugged.

“Probably. But the angst-ridden teenager was already talking trash and I didn’t want to see him try and bounce all twenty bucks on his stick at once or something stupid.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Roland mumbled, but both Killian and Jeff clicked their tongues and maybe they should let him in on the eye-rolling competition too. He’d beat both Killian and Ruby easily. “I mean, you know, maybe like…ten,” he amended, and Killian’s laugh felt a little manic, but he was exhausted and stressed out and his friends were staging a shitty intervention.

So, really, whatever noise he made seemed perfectly acceptable.

He wished Robin’s vaguely judgmental stare got that memo.

“Let’s make it a round dozen, huh?” Killian asked. Roland beamed.

“That seems fair.”

“Can we stop all glorifying the kids?” Jeff muttered, but he was already in net again and Matt was standing on the blue line like he’d been born there. “They’re going to start getting ideas and then we’re all going to be out of a job.”

“You a little worried about your job?” Robin asked knowingly.

Jeff threw a water bottle at him.

“Shut up, Locksley. Your kid is eight-thousand times better than you are. Especially at faceoffs.”

“Don’t let Gina here you say that,” Will suggested, making a ridiculous noise when Matt hit him in the back of the ankles. “Ah, jeez, Dr. J. The limbs, they’ve got to be controlled.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Killian laughed. “It’s because you didn’t give him a real stick.”

“If you were going to crash practice like this, you should have been better prepared, Cap. Why didn’t you bring him a stick?”

“You think we should just be wandering around Midtown with hockey sticks in our hands?”

“Did you walk up here from school?”

Killian shrugged, but it hadn’t been that cold and the thought of answering questions from particularly curious cab drivers or even more self-important Uber drivers, was not one he was all that interested in. Will cackled. “Oh man, wait until I tell Emma on you,” he grinned.

“Walking up Broadway is not a crime, Scarlet. Neither is showing up to the practice of a team I am still very much employed by.” Will hummed, but it sounded a little patronizing and his gaze flashed Robin’s direction again. Killian sighed. “You are both absolutely horrible at this, you know that, right?”

“That’s because we thought we were going to have to do it after the back to back,” Robin explained. “You caught us by surprise and now we’re just kind of…winging it.”

“It’s not your best work, honestly.”

“That’s still not getting you out of it.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Dad,” Matt whined, and Killian snapped his head up, eyes wide and brows halfway up his forehead and that stick was absolutely ridiculous. “Can I shoot now?”

“Nothing was stopping you before,” Will mumbled, but he stopped talking as soon as both Robin and Killian glared at him and Roland might have joined the fray as well. If there was another water bottle, Jeff would have thrown that one too.

“Sure, kid,” Killian said. “You’ve got to move your hands further down the stick though. It’s going to get caught in your skates if you hold it like that.”

Matt did as instructed, which shouldn’t have been as impressive as it was, but Killian was a great, big sentimental _idiot_ and his kid had asked if they could watch practice as soon as they walked through the players entrance to the Garden. The security guard and Matt had an not-quite secret handshake.

This couldn’t be it.

Indefinite needed an ending date.

Soon.

“That?” Matt asked, bent a bit awkwardly and a little familiarly and Killian didn’t entirely appreciate the low whistle Roland let out. That was exactly how he stood in front of the net on a power play.

Killian nodded dumbly. “Yeah, yeah,” he breathed. “Just like that. Make sure you push off from the middle of your skate when you start moving and then move onto your toes.”

Matt looked at him – clearly aware of what exactly it would take to pick up speed on the ice and maybe it would be acceptable if Killian walked out of the arena, up several dozen flights of stairs and then staged some kind of absolute mental breakdown in his wife’s office.

Possibly after kissing her.

And apologizing. Again.

He was so tired.

“I know,” Matt said, dragging out the words, and drawing another pointed laugh out of Will. “You’ve gotta watch!”

“I am absolutely watching.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Where are you going to aim?”

“Hook, you can’t ask him that,” Roland groaned. “Then Jeff’ll know where to save it!”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Rol,” Will mumbled, but Roland still looked a bit scandalized and Matt had started bobbing on his skates. They kept skates for him in the New York Rangers locker room.

“Where are you going to aim?” Killian repeated. If asked, he would have said he was entirely prepared for his son’s answering smile, but that would have been a lie and he was really trying to stop doing that, particularly when it came to his family and the doctor had given him a Tylenol schedule that Emma had rewritten earlier that week.

She hung it on the refrigerator.

And made copies.

He was fairly certain there was one in her office. She was probably more aware of his over-the-counter medicinal schedule than her own eating habits.

He was going to climb several dozen flights of stairs. Soon.

“Five hole,” Matt shouted, still smiling and it was still a near-perfect mix of Killian and Emma and he was having a very difficult time breathing.

Robin clapped Killian on the shoulder. “You’ve got to let him shoot, Cap.”

“Right, right,” Killian mumbled, not sure if the words were actual words or just generic sounds of agreement. “Alright, Mattie, you ready?” Matt nodded again, twisting his grip on the stick and he didn’t notice Will’s gloved hand on his back. “You ready Jeff?”

“Ten-four, Cap. Let’s have your best shot, little Cap.”

“Go!”

Will pushed and Roland cheered and Jeff made a pretty good show of trying to make the save while opening his stance to an almost dangerous proportion and the puck sounded impossibly loud when it hit the back of the net.

Killian was only slightly sure he’d imagined that part.

Matt yelped, stick thrown in the air and knees on the ice because keeping his balance could only last for so long and the whole thing was reminiscent of several exploding rainbows. Of the soul-type variety. Or whatever.

“Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad,” Matt said, rushing over the words and spinning on his hands. His pants were a lost cause. They should have changed before they crashed practiced. “Did you see that?”

Killian nodded, smile tugging at his mouth and Robin laughing softly next to him. “I did,” he promised. “You destroyed Jeff. He never even saw you coming.”

“That was like your goal before!”

Honestly, the world was a little unfair and a little mean and if Killian never saw or thought about another rainbow, he wouldn’t have argued.

He wished he could teleport to Emma’s office.

He wished his phone was on so he could call Emma’s office and make sure she was in her office before teleporting, immediately, to her office.

And Matt had no idea.

He was four. He wasn’t supposed to. He was supposed to think his dad was the greatest hockey player to ever play or ever consider playing and he was supposed to practice breakaways on a goalie that let him score every time while trying to recreate a shot Killian was only slightly certain was the one against the Pens in November.

He let out a quick huff of air, a breath of feeling and emotion and Robin had never moved his hand.

“Hey Rol,” Will said lightly, an almost _obvious_ calm in his voice. “Why don’t you and Dr. J see if you can actually bounce twenty pucks on your stick at once.”

“Twenty?” Roland echoed.

“At least.”

“That’s impossible, Uncle Will. We just talked about this.”

“Roland,” Robin snapped, and it was a pretty good impression of Regina. Roland nearly jumped to attention.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok. I mean…” He glanced at the bench, Killian staring at an empty section in the right corner of the arena and Robin’s slightly narrowed eyes, and Jeff had started taping his stick at some point, an impatient, awkward rhythm that matched up perfectly with the way Killian’s pulse had been acting in the last five days. “Yeah,” Roland repeated. “That sounds like a plan. I’ll, uh…c’mon Mattie. We can uh—“

“—Fine,” Jeff sighed. “You guys can practice shooting some more. I’m avoiding A anyway, so this is absolutely a good use of my time.”

Matt stood back up. “Can I, Dad?”

Killian nodded, every single one of his muscles tight because Robin’s expression had turned a little pitiful and he might have been avoiding Ariel too and, like, everyone. In general. Completely.

It was probably because of his sleep deprivation.

Matt didn’t need anything more, grabbing his stick again and already passing with Roland and Killian tried not to look too frustrated when Will slung his legs over the boards. “If this is going to be another attempt at a, frankly, piece of garbage conversation about my life, then I need you guys to both work a little harder this time around,” Killian muttered.

“Wow, Cap,” Will grinned. “That was pretty harsh.”

“He’s not sleeping,” Robin explained.

Killian’s eyes were never going to recover from everything he was doing to them – rolling and widening to sizes that could _not_ have been healthy or helpful when it came to multiple days without a concussion-induced headache. “How did you know that?”

“Aside from you looking like complete and utter shit?”

“Yeah, aside from that.”

“Well, the shitty appearance is a pretty good indicator. As are the incredibly massive bags under your eyes. It wasn’t really hard to put two and two together.”

“Also,” Will added, dropping onto the edge of the bench and, somehow, resting his skate blades on the top of the boards. “You’re you, so you’re clearly not coping well. At all.”

Killian ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the back until it almost hurt and there was probably some twisted reason for that, but it kind of woke him up. That didn’t seem good at all. “I’m coping fine,” he said. “There’s nothing to cope with.”

“And you said our conversation was a piece of garbage.”

“This is not your issue. And I really don’t think the bags under my eyes are enormous.”

“So you’re agreeing that there are bags under your eyes.”

“I am a parent to two kids under the age of five.”

“I mean, technically. Dr. J will be five later this year.”

“Tell that to my sleep schedule and a day-to-day schedule that is almost too full, at this point.”

“You’re not the one in charge of several dozen fan events in the next two months,” Will pointed out. Killian opened his mouth to argue, but whatever he was going to say seemed to die on the tip of his tongue and Emma had been far too stressed out about the roulette table.

They were going to have to buy a new one.

It was not about the roulette table.

“And you don’t get to use your kids as an excuse for this,” Robin said, but that felt decidedly heavy-handed too and this conversation was almost dripping with double meanings. Killian had a headache.

“No?” Killian asked. More double meanings. More extra emotions. More lying.

“No.”

“Why were you lurking here, Cap?” Will asked. He shook off his gloves, resting his hands on the bench and staring at him in a way that Killian was fairly positive he’d never see again.

He hadn’t appreciated it the first time.

He certainly didn’t appreciate it this time.

“There was no lurking,” Killian said. “I’m still on this team.”

“You’ve made that point several times. No one is questioning that.”

“No? They call a guy up from the WolfPack yet?”

Will nodded, and his eyes didn’t leave Killian’s face, slightly narrowed and far too understanding or all-knowing and this team spent way too much time together. “They put you on IR, Cap. Of course they called up some guy from the WolfPack.”

“Is he good?”

“No, he totally sucks. Of course he’s good. He played in the AHL, he at least has to know how to put his pads on.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel worthwhile.”

“I’m not really talking about the AHL guy,” Will said, but his voice got a bit lower and slightly more dangerous and Killian was only a little concerned he was going to challenge him to a fight. He’d already taken his gloves off, after all. “And neither were you, so let’s all drop the act and talk about you bringing one of your insanely cute kids to practice so you could loiter on the bench like a giant weirdo.”

“Except we won’t use the word weirdo again because it kind of takes away from the very adult, grown-up point we’re trying to make,” Robin muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, definitely not,” Will said. “And, incidentally, where is your other kid?”

“They have this thing called daycare, Scarlet,” Killian muttered, appreciating the way Will’s eyebrows dropped when his voice turned a bit more menacing. “Merida’s picking her up because Emma had to go buy new Casino Night stuff and deal with something with Gotham Hall and we’ve circled right back around to that very jam-packed schedule I was talking about before. So if you two could get to your point soon, that’d be great and I can go find Emma.”

“Didn’t you just say she was at Gotham Hall?”

“Oh my God, Scarlet, I don’t know!”

The words seemed to fly out of him – like throwing knives or those little ninja star things that always looked way cooler in the movies he and Liam used to watch when they were kids – painful and emotional and probably leaving a few scars in their wake. Will looked at Robin again.

Killian yanked on his hair.

“How are you even sitting like that?” he asked, waving a hand towards Will and his twisted limbs. This was easily the worst conversation any of them had ever had.

“It’s honestly not that uncomfortable.”

“Not that uncomfortable does not sound like actually comfortable. You look like a contortionist.”

“You jealous of my clearly superior limbs?”

“Oh, my God.”

Will laughed, shaking his head slightly and exhaling softly – an apology and an understanding without actually using the words and they’d been there for the first disaster and Liam and everything that had happened in between. It was no wonder they were there for whatever the hell it was they were going to call this.

Killian really hoped it wasn’t the end.

He wished his head would stop feeling as if it were going to snap in half.

“It’s still your team, Cap,” Will muttered. “That didn’t change in five days.”

“You don’t know it won’t, though.”

“Neither do you.”

“Eh.”

“You apologize to Emma yet?”

“Probably not enough,” Killian admitted. He didn’t remember sitting down, but his legs were bent and his head fit very well in his hands when he sagged forward.

“Yeah, that’s definitely true.”

“Because what you did was exceedingly stupid,” Robin added. “Like top tier stupid.”

Killian’s laugh sounded hollow, even to his own ears, but he couldn’t get the memory of Emma in the doctor’s office out of his mind, how pale her cheeks were and the way the questions had rattled out of her, worry obvious in every letter and he wanted her to sleep more than he wanted to sleep. “Are there tiers of stupidity?” he asked. “Or am I just on some precipice on my own?”

“Would you be insulted if I said it was absolutely the second one?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Good because that’s definitely what it is.”

“Mostly we’re just pissed at you,” Will said, finally pulling his feet off the boards and tugging at the laces on his skates.

Killian hummed, understanding the feeling because he was kind of pissed at himself, but he couldn’t really come to terms with the myriad of emotions he was feeling. He kept circling back to complete, unadulterated fear and he didn’t entirely appreciate that.

“What’s the new guy’s name?” he asked, and Will didn’t try to disguise his answering groan. “That’s just general curiosity, I promise.”  
  
“God, you are an absolute shit liar,” Robin chuckled. “Does Emma know that? Is that why you didn’t bring up the headaches and the vision issues? Because you knew your voice would do that lying thing and she’d totally know?”

“There was no lying thing.”  
  
“That was worse.”  
  
“Why do you think I shouldn’t be at this practice? It’s not even a practice, really. It’s a glorified walk-through.”  
  
“And you know Arthur would never kick you out when you brought the adorable kid buffer,” Will mumbled. Loudly.

“You going down a list of insults or what, Scarlet?” Killian seethed, glancing up when Matt made a noise and wanted him to watch something and he wasn’t sure if his face looked perfectly father-esque, but he was hopeful it was, at least, close. He smiled when Matt tried to juke in front of the net. “Can you guys please get to the point? Or at least answer some of my questions? I’m not going to be picky about it.”  
  
“You’re just going to be an ass about everything else.”

It was like the anger was a fire – erupting in the middle of him and slinking through his veins and arteries and into Killian’s heart or possibly his still-slightly concussed brain and he narrowed his eyes when he glared at Will.

Will didn’t blink.

It was a miracle the ice didn’t melt.

“The opinions just keep getting more and more pointed don’t they?” Killian asked, standing up as suddenly as he’d sat down and stuffing his hands in the pockets of the jacket he’d never taken off.

“I’m not here to pick apart your life, Cap,” Will said.

“No? You might want to reexamine your approach then.”

Will stood up as well, expression unreadable except for the very obvious pinch in between his eyebrows and the slight twitch of muscle in his temple and Killian had to dig his nails into his palm to stop himself from doing something he’d regret.

Probably.

“You shouldn’t be here lurking,” Will continued. “You shouldn’t be here watching if you don’t have to be. This isn’t going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere. It’s still your team and still your locker room and you can ask Arthur if you want to double check. He’ll probably defer to your unquestionable leadership qualities, anyway. Nothing is going to happen if you’re not on the ice so you brain doesn’t explode, Cap. Locksley and I won’t let it.”

“My brain’s not going to explode.”  
  
“I mean, you know, hopefully.”  
  
Killian was going to blame the distinct lack of sleep for whatever happened next.

His shoulders sagged and the muscles in his neck seemed to collectively give up at once, head falling until his chin collided with the team-branded shirt he was wearing. He didn’t really own anything that wasn’t team-branded.

He blinked, trying to get rid of whatever was happening in the corners of his eyes, but Robin and Will had seen _everything_ and staring at both of them with slightly glossy eyes on the bench in an almost-abandoned Garden seemed to almost make sense.

“We probably should have led with that, honestly,” Robin shrugged. “Next time we intervene, we’ll do a better job. We really weren’t expecting you to show today.”  
  
Killian let out a shaky laugh, and he was going to do permanent damage to his scalp if he kept running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, next time I reach that tier of stupid, you’ve got my explicit permission to do a better job of telling me I’m being an asshole.”  
  
“We never used that word. We could have, but we didn’t. So let the record remember that.”  
  
“I’m really not keeping track.”

Another lie. But, like, a good one – so Killian was hopeful it didn’t mess with the world’s opinion of him.

And it really wouldn’t have been a _proper_ intervention if he didn’t hear footsteps coming down the tunnel and Killian could almost taste her frustration lingering in the air. He’d been avoiding her since the doctor’s office.

“Here,” Ariel said, thrusting a cell phone into his chest without preamble. “Take this. I’m not doing the go-between thing anymore. It’s driving me nuts.”  
  
“Hey, Red,” Killian laughed, and earning himself a deserved glare in response. “How you doing? Things going ok?”  
  
“Don’t test me, Cap. I will stab you with a skate.”  
  
“There are no loose skates around here. We run a very well organized team.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“I’m just exchanging pleasantries.”

“Yeah, I know what you’re doing and it’s stupid, but I’m also assuming you’ve been here for awhile already and I know Locksley and Scarlet had a plan so--”  
  
“--Oh my God, A,” Robin groaned. “C’mon. We told you the plan in confidence.”

“And from the look on Cap’s face, it seems you’ve executed it wonderfully,” Ariel continued, undeterred by whatever expression Will was making and Matt was trying to bounce the puck on his stick. “When you want something done right, you need to go to the professionals.”  
  
“You’re a professional at interfering in other people’s personal lives, Red?” Killian asked archly, and she pushed the phone into him again. “God, stop that, you’re going to do damage to your wrist.”

“You think I don’t know how to make sure I don’t break my own wrist? Take this.”  
  
“I don’t even know what this is.”  
  
“It’s a phone,” she growled, twisting it as his shirt bunched under the plastic. “Maybe relearn the English language and then answer people’s phone calls. And e-mails. Mine included.”

“When did you send me an e-mail?”

She huffed, or possibly snarled, but Killian was too busy ignoring Will and Robin’s laugh and the sound of pucks hitting the boards to be too worried about the exact definition. “The day after the doctor’s office because there’s actually a lot of PT you can do for post-concussion syndrome--”  
  
“--Shit, is that the name for it?” Will asked sharply. He snapped his mouth closed when Ariel turned her glare on him, mumbling _sorry, A_ under his breath.

“Yes, that’s the name for it, but that’s very much not the point,,” Ariel said. The phone in her hand lit up again. “You’ve got a schedule to follow, Cap. I e-mailed and texted it to you. I expect you on a treadmill walking as slowly as humanly possible on Monday afternoon. Because if you don’t show up, I’m going to tell Emma you’re being a dick and then you’re going to feel even more guilty than I already know you do.”  
  
“I don’t feel guilty,” Killian lied, met almost immediately with three very loud, very disbelieving groans.

“On average, how much sleep are you getting per night?” Ariel asked knowingly. Killian took the phone. She had sixteen missed calls. “Yeah, right,” she muttered. “Take that guilty feeling and try and tell me you’re not feeling it now.”  
  
“I’m not sure that even made sense, Red.”  
  
“Ask me if I care. You should really call, like, at least one of them back.”  
  
Killian sighed, but he felt as bad as he had since stumbling down the hall at Bridgestone Arena, and his thumb hit the first missed call without looking at the name.

Liam answered.

Figured.

“He lives,” Liam yelled, and Killian winced, the ache in the back of his skull increasing with every breath he took. That probably wasn’t right.

“Between you and Locksley, I’m not sure who is more convinced I’m knocking on death’s door,” Killian grumbled.

“It’s definitely your kid. So don’t insult either me or Locksley like that.”  
  
“It seems strange that I’ve had to point out that said kid is four more than once today.”  
  
“Scarlet?”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
Liam laughed, but there was a hint of _something_ on the edge of it that made the hair on the back of Killian’s neck stand up and he wondered if there was another word for guilty. Maybe there was a cliché he was missing.

Or a Norwegian curse word.

“You ever call Mr. and Mrs. Vankald?”

Killian hummed, and the audience around him did its best to look uninterested. They were god awful at that too. Their hearts, however, were, mostly, in the right place.

There was the cliché.

“After the presser,” Killian answered. “They uh...did they call you? Before?”

“Oh yeah,” Liam said, and that sound was back and it was awful and the Garden had never felt smaller. “What felt like several times while Elsa was trying to get in touch with you. Mrs. V cried.”  
  
“I figured.”  
  
“Good.”

“That was a rather strong opinion.”  
  
“Yeah, well I’ve got several of those,” Liam bristled, Killian standing up straighter out of years of experience and several years of getting checked just underneath his shoulder blades. This whole day felt a little bit like that.

He glanced at Robin, eyes wide and maybe a little imploring and it took, precisely, four seconds for him to understand. “Let’s go, Scarlet,” Robin said, swinging his legs back onto the ice with plans for some kind of competition and a hand held out expectantly for Ariel.

“If I break my leg, I’m blaming all three of you.”  
  
“That actually seems totally fair,” Will said, already halfway towards the net and he laughed loudly when Matt crashed into his thigh.

Killian waited a few moments before opening his mouth, keeping an eye on his kid and the smile on his face and dreading what his brother was about to say because it was all going to be true and maybe one of those emotions he was feeling before was just a general sense of cowardice.

That felt wrong.

His kids deserved better than that.

“Alright,” Killian started, “Go--”

“--Take Emma out,” Liam interrupted, barely missing a note as his voice drowned out Killian’s.

“What?”  
  
“Was that confusing?”

“Maybe unexpected.”

Liam laughed again. This had been a very confusing day. “Yeah, that was almost to obvious,” he said. “How many times you been to practice?”  
  
“Just today.”  
  
“The whole time?”  
  
“No, I had to pick Matt up from school.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Was that unexpected?” Killian asked, and he really wished all these words stopped hurting him in some kind of metaphorical sense.

“I mean, not totally,” Liam said. He was shrugging. Killian knew he was shrugging. And probably standing in front of the window in his office. “That kid thinks you created the entire world and then invented hockey and won a Cup every year.”  
  
“I think he’s almost too aware of how we haven’t won the Cup every year, actually.”  
  
“See, this is what I’m talking about. Get out of there. He doesn’t care. Peggy cares even less.”  
  
“Peggy can’t form entire sentences, so…”  
  
“Why are you arguing with me about this?” Liam asked exasperatedly. The door opened in Colorado and some assistant asked something, a few mumbled responses about _that kid from Notre Dame looking good_ , and Killian smiled before he realized he wasn’t quite as frustrated anymore. “Locksley and Scarlet said they were going to say something too. Is that why? Did they get there first with the speeches and now I’m just old news?”  
  
“I mean you’re definitely something if you’re using the phrase old news in normal conversation.”  
  
“Not an answer.”  
  
Killian scoffed, eyes staying in a normal position for half a moment, but there were more footsteps coming down the tunnel and he swore the lights in the arena reflected off her hair. So he was probably insane at that point.

Emma blinked when saw him, moving Peggy onto her hip, and Killian’s smile was as honest as it had been in what felt like several lifetimes. He was only a little worried about the state of his heart, expanding and contracting and that feeling in between his ribs was suddenly replaced with something that felt a hell of a lot like joy and a bit like contentment and his lungs really appreciated the oxygen he suddenly decided to provide them with.

“Ariel said you were down here,” Emma explained, like she needed a reason to show up and fix the Earth’s gravitational pull or something that didn’t sound quite so insane and just a little clingy. “So we figured we’d take a field trip. And I figured you’d end up here eventually.”  
  
“And you were talking about my mind reading abilities,” Killian said. He had to press the phone to his ear with his shoulder to free up his hands, drawing circles on Peggy’s side and making faces because he knew it usually ended with Emma smiling and that was, suddenly, the sole goal of the day and Liam was still talking.

“Ask her out on a date,” he shouted. “Get out of that arena! Teach your kid how to shoot a wrister!.”  
  
“He knows how to do that,” Killian muttered. “He scored on Jeff fifteen minutes ago.”

“Did he seriously?” Emma asked. She was smiling.

“Kind of. There were possibly some dramatics and some staged attempts at a save, but he did get some power on the shot.”  
  
She beamed – something about brighter than the entire New York City skyline. That was another good cliché.

“Did he go five hole?” Liam asked. He didn’t need an answer, far too many memories of Central Park and the Piers and practicing wrist shots against each other because there wasn’t anyone else around.

Killian wanted to get on the ice again.

He didn’t want Emma to stop smiling.

It felt like a very thin line to walk.

“Obviously,” Killian said, and Liam chuckled lightly in his ear. “You guys need to stop calling Red so often. She’s got enough to worry about.”  
  
“Yeah, you blowing off PT because you’re an idiot. I’ll save my speech, since I know Locksley and Scarlet stole all my high points and already out brother’ed me. It was a good one though.”  
  
“I’ve got no doubt.”

“We’ve started a marker of how many times you’ve ignored our calls. So maybe stop doing that because you're legitimately hurting Elsa and Anna’s feelings.”

Killian winced, guilt sliding down his spine and threatening to tug him into the ground. “Shit.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s a good response to that. Call them back. But make out with your wife first.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You heard me. I’m not going to say it again. Tell her she’s the most important thing in the world, save maybe your cute kids and then apologize again because you haven’t done that enough, I know, and try to keep some perspective. It doesn’t have to be the end, little brother, but there’s more to everything even if it is.”  
  
He wasn’t holding his breath, was breathing almost _too_ evenly, far too aware of Emma’s stare and the sounds Peggy was making, but Killian exhaled loudly anyway and--”That was pretty spot on older brother, honestly.”  
  
“Good to know I haven’t lost my touch. Seriously, ask your wife out. And then call mine.”

“Deal.”

Killian stuffed the phone back in his pocket, ignoring Ariel’s _what the hell, that’s mine, Cap, God, sorry Matt,_ taking a step towards Emma and making a face at Peggy when she wrapped her hand around his finger. “What are you doing later?” he asked.

Later turned into _several hours_ later because Matt didn’t want to get off the ice and Will was a pushover and a little surprising because he offered to keep Matt and Peggy overnight, despite the looming back-to-back and _Belle will be thrilled_ and Killian couldn't bring himself to argue when both his kids seemed thrilled with the prospect.

So maybe he was the pushover.

And he, somehow, ended up in Emma’s office, organizing files and merch and it felt a little familiar and a lot comfortable and they ended up ordering Chinese from the place three blocks down the street.

“Didn’t really hit the mark, did we?” Emma asked, peering at him over a container of pot stickers she’d decreed were a necessary part of the order.

“What do you mean?”

The words on the page had started getting blurry though, plans for signed merch and a schedule of events that, at one point, seemed centered around him, but Emma’s handwriting was everywhere and there were far more question marks than Killian was entirely comfortable with. Emma scrunched her nose, resting her elbows on her desk and her chin on her hands and it might not have been their best date ever.

“This date is lacking a bit of the romance, isn’t it? It might be because I’m still super pissed about the roulette table.”  
  
“The roulette table will be fine. You’re getting a new one. Or the season tickets can cope with one less game to play. Just make Scarlet stay at blackjack a little while longer.”  
  
“That’s actually not a bad idea.”  
  
“It does happen from time to time,” Killian said. Emma made a noise, not quite an agreement and slightly distracted when her phone lit up again. It looked like it belonged on the Vegas strip. “You alright, love? Your phone looks like it’s getting ready to fight back or something.”

She laughed lightly, eyes closed and even her cell phone was ringing. “Are you feeling ok?”

Killian nodded, mostly on instinct, but also on honesty, the sincerity in Emma’s question unsurprising and just as nice. Nice was a terrible word for it. Everything.

Everything sounded way better.

“I’m fine, Swan,” he said.

“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You’ve been reading paperwork forever. That can’t be good for your head. I should have read the side effects of--”  
  
“--Actual Tylenol?” Killian asked, and Emma scrunched her nose again. “I’m as fine as advertised, love. It hasn’t been forever. And I wanted to help.”

“I told you you had to help because I was so behind schedule,” she objected, one side of her mouth tugged up. He was ridiculously attracted to his wife. And there’d been a disappointing lack of making out on this date. “It’s definitely been hours. I can’t think about Casino Night anymore or I’m going to throw a pot sticker at the window.”  
  
“Please don’t attack the windows, Swan.”

“Do you think Scarlet broke into our apartment to get the kids clothes?”  
  
“I know he didn’t because he is incapable of picking locks and Belle is too nice of a person to know how to pick locks and because I gave him my key.”  
  
“You gave him your key?”  
  
Killian shrugged, but the smirk on his face almost felt like it was working and Emma eyed him with something that felt a hell of a lot like flirting. And a bit more like _normal_ than anything else. “I had a feeling I might be going home with you.”  
  
“Sounds presumptuous.”  
  
“A hunch.”  
  
Emma’s smile settled on her face, tongue moving to the corner of her mouth and that was incredibly distracting, but Killian wasn’t all that confident in the strength of his legs at the moment and she laughed when he crooked a finger towards her.

That had absolutely been the goal.

Her chair squeaked when she moved, leaving her heels on the floor where she’d kicked them off hours before. It had definitely been hours.

Killian dropped the papers in his hand, careful not to mess up the order as Emma hummed a quiet approval. “Thanks, Cap,” she muttered, the tips of her fingers brushing over his jaw and he hadn’t shaved in days.

There were several depressing and increasingly horrible reasons for that, but Killian couldn’t remember a single one when she perched on his right thigh, slinging an arm around his shoulders and catching his lips with hers.

He might have groaned.

God, he hoped he didn’t groan.

He definitely groaned.

Emma laughed against his mouth, the smile obvious in the turn of her lips and the feel of her next to him and it only took a few moments for her to shift, straddling his hips in the middle of her office and it’d been far too long since they’d done that.

Her fingers tangled with his hair and his arms wrapped around her waist, trailing patterns up and down her spine because she was wearing a dress, a fact that wasn’t usually distressing, but now felt a little inconvenient and they were still in her office.

The door was wide open.

Neither one of them seemed particularly inclined to stop.

“This can’t be healthy,” Emma mumbled, voice strained and pupils blown wide when she leaned back slightly.

“I disagree.”  
  
“I’m serious. I’m...you’re staring at tiny letters and my handwriting--”  
  
“--Your handwriting is perfectly legible, Swan.”  
  
“I’m not really worried about my handwriting.”  
  
“I know, love," Killian said, pressing a kiss to the bridge of her nose and her hair was everywhere. It was on his shoulder. He didn’t understand that. “But I’m…”

He had every intention of finishing that sentence. Really. The words were there, promises and declarations and attempts at being charming that he hoped didn’t fall flat, but Emma’s eyes were wide when they met his and Killian’s hand was on her back and the only thing he was particularly interested in was making sure she realized she was at the center of everything.

Indefinitely.

So he didn’t say any of the things he should have or wanted to, just closed his eye and let his forehead rest against hers and whispered “don’t stop.”

They did, eventually, get out of Emma’s office, clothes intact and hair a bit of a giveaway, stumbling onto the block and the cab driver’s jaw dropped when he recognized Killian. There were questions, but Killian mostly ignored them, determined to focus on whatever it was Emma was doing against the side of his neck and Regina was going to kill him for several reasons, but showing up on Page Six the next morning was probably going to be the top of the list.

It was all a bit of a blur after that.

The good kind.

The less concussed, worried about his entire professional hockey future kind. The kind where Emma made that one noise and her zipper didn’t stick and none of the baseboards were dented when they kicked their shoes off.

They left a trail of clothes in their wake, landing on the bed in a mess of limbs and lips and laughter that made _everything_ seem like a gross understatement. And all those words he’d been thinking in her office seemed to tumble out of Killian, a string of praises and guarantees and Emma’s smile looked permanently etched on her face.

“Awfully mouthy tonight, huh?” she asked, but the question went breathless as soon as he shifted and he absolutely groaned that time.

She rolled her eyes when she realized what she’d said, wrapping her fingers around the back of his neck to tug him back down, but Killian kept his lips on her cheek and chin and Emma’s breath audibly caught when he rocked his hips.

“Definitely later,” he promised, and he wasn’t sure this was part of concussion protocol, but it was probably better so, really, it seemed almost medicinal.  
  
“God, shut up and kiss me.”  
  
“So aggressive.”  
  
“I’m serious.”

He couldn't argue that.

The clothes were still in the hallway later, and neither one of them was getting the sleep they could absolutely use, a bowl of rocky road ice cream in between them and two spoons and the blush in Emma’s cheeks hadn’t disappeared yet.

“This is more romantic,” she said. “If not a little unconventional. I can’t believe we had ice cream. Why did we have ice cream?”  
  
“I think Mattie wanted some before we went to Nashville because--”  
  
Killian cut himself off, biting down on his tongue and spoon in equal measure and he wasn’t sure which one hurt more. “Because he wasn’t sure there’d be ice cream in Nashville,” Emma finished, smile a hint sadder than it had been a moment before.

“I’m so sorry, Emma.”  
  
She took another spoonful of ice cream.

“For all of it,” Killian continued, and he had no idea why he kept talking. But she’d looked so pale in that doctor’s office and he couldn’t stop wondering what _would_ happen if indefinite became _it_ and he didn’t know what he was without a hockey stick in his hand.

It felt like several lifetimes before she answered, words quiet and measured, like she’d practiced them in front of the mirror several times.

“I know,” Emma whispered. “But I was, still am, I guess, so scared. I can’t...you’re it, you know?”

“I’m not going anywhere, love.”  
  
“I’ll check you really hard if you do. Right under the shoulder blades.”  
  
“Perfect technique.”  
  
“You better believe it.”  
  
He chuckled, tugging the spoon out of her hand so he could kiss her without fear of rocky road retribution. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too,” Emma said, grabbing the bowl and leaving it on the nightstand behind her and the ice cream had melted when they woke up the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A never-ending stream of thanks for clicking and reading. It's very nice. 
> 
> Feel free to come hang out on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if your'e so inclined.


	5. Chapter 5

The music, honestly, was probably too loud.

Emma wasn’t entirely sure what the volume was at, but she was almost certain she could feel the beat under her skin and that probably wasn’t good for her eardrums or the actual baby sitting in a carrier on the goddamn floor.

She glanced at Peggy, seemingly oblivious to the volume or the generic tackiness of a Spotify playlist that was actually called _totally 80s_ and Emma nearly tripped over a pile of papers she forgot she’d moved.

On the floor.

There were papers all over her floor.

It was, in theory, easier to organize that way – stacks for ticket sales and food options and non-gluten options because things were absolutely crazy and vaguely insane, but Will Scarlet still had a gluten sensitivity and he’d mentioned it fifty-two times in the last three days.

At least.

And there were piles for merch, some signed and some game used and all of it ready to be displayed and auctioned and they were going to get a video poker machine instead of a new roulette table because it was cheaper and Zelena was, suddenly, worried about budgets.

Emma had sat in four different meetings about the same budget in the last week.

She almost didn’t make it to the restaurant the night before, a pen still stuck in her hair when she barreled through the door and Killian’s whole face had done something entirely unfair because he kind of looked stunned when he saw her, but that might have been because they hadn’t really seen much of each other in the last few days.

He had PT and kept loitering at practice, despite several pointed opinions from both Vankald sisters about _that_ in the group text, and Emma felt like she was constantly half a second away from throwing her phone out the window and screaming at everyone to _leave them alone_ so she could make out with Killian in her office again.

They were really good at making out in her office.

But that would probably be difficult if there were still piles of papers on every flat surface and there were not enough hours in the day for everything Emma had to do.

So, really, the music might have been at an entirely appropriate volume.

Or, at least, an understandable one.

“We’re good, right?” Emma asked, glancing back at Peggy like a thirteen-month-old baby was about to respond to her. “Totally not going crazy.”

Peggy did, in fact, make a noise, some kind of gurgle and a mumble of _ma, ma, ma, ma_ , tiny fists held up like she was challenging the air to drop gloves.

Emma sighed, closing her eyes lightly and her legs didn’t entirely appreciate when she crouched down, but she’d actually put her kid on the ground, so her legs could cope and her mind could cope and Killian kept sitting on the bench while the Rangers were practicing.

That new guy was good.

Not _Killian good_ or _Killian fast_ , but he was good and not on the IR indefinitely or worried about headaches or a Tylenol schedule that Emma actually had memorized at this point.

Nicklas Husinger did not have to walk as slowly as humanly possible on a treadmill while Ariel glared at him for forty-five minutes every day.

Emma needed to do something besides sigh.

Peggy tried to wave, but they hadn’t quite got the hang of it yet, a backwards move that made Emma’s heart grow. “You trying to tell me the music is too loud, babe?” she asked, more questions she knew she wasn’t going to get an answer to, but the song changed and Emma had always had a sort of soft spot for George Harrison and she’d picked Peggy up before she realized her fingers were moving.

“I know, I know,” Emma murmured, bobbing on her feet and trying to avoid a stack of papers that Merida had put in alphabetical order the day before. She had no idea where Merida was. Probably avoiding the music. “It’s not too loud, right? You’d definitely shout if it was too loud and we’re happy and kind of dancing. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

No answer.

A hair tug, and a slight gurgle, but no answer.

“This is a good song too,” Emma continued, weaving across her office and it looked like it was snowing out. She hoped it didn’t snow on Casino Night. They didn’t have a snow contingency plan. Shit they should probably have a snow contingency plan.

She’d make the entire goddamn roster walk to Gotham Hall if the cars couldn’t get there.

And Killian needed to get a tux.

“Oh damn,” Emma muttered, remembering _that_ and wondering if there was a notebook somewhere that wasn’t already filled with half-finished thoughts and schedules. She made a face when Peggy did, eyes flashing down with an expression she hoped was repentant because Killian had read one time about _talking to babies_ before they were born and how that affected their cognizant reasoning once they were born and Emma could only imagine the kind of impact she was leaving on her kids by swearing in their faces.

“Listen, when you know how to actually say words and not just yank on my hair to get my attention, I need you not to mention this entire afternoon to your dad, ok?” Emma asked, and she’d clearly lost her mind. “I’m serious, babe. Not a word. He should have reminded me about his tux.”  
  
Peggy squirmed, which Emma assumed was some kind of sign and she knew Killian didn’t forget about his tux and just didn’t want to go to Casino Night and the whole thing was a disaster.

The new guy was really good. He’d scored in the second game of the back to back. They were on a win streak.

Killian was probably watching film while walking as slowly as humanly possible on the treadmill.

“He’s really freaking out, you know,” Emma muttered, ducking her head to kiss Peggy’s forehead and the words weren’t supposed to shake their way out of her, but nothing had really gone according to schedule in the last week and a half and she was so ridiculously tired she was positive she was walking through some kind of constant fog.

“And he’s not really talking about it,” she added. “Which is kind of making me freak out. Are you a little freaked out too, Pegs? Because that’d almost be understandable.”  
  
Emma leaned back, not sure what she was waiting for, but the almost-raspberries Peggy blew into the air were pretty far down the list and her laugh sounded as genuine as it had since the almost date.

“That was about as eloquent as me,” Emma grinned. She was still almost dancing, shifting and rocking and twisting her hips and George Harrison had turned into the B52s and this playlist was going to single-handedly fix all of Casino Night, she was positive.

It was, at the very least, doing a pretty great job of calming her nerves.

She kept reading about post-concussion symptoms. In between meetings and budgets and numbers that Merida promised ten different times they’d reach because they didn’t have another choice, and Aurora had called twenty-two times in the last day to double check on the Garden of Dreams banner.

A goddamn banner.

That had gotten water damaged in New Jersey too.

Emma needed to stop reading about concussion symptoms. It was terrifying.

“It’s not that,” she whispered, half to herself and half to Peggy and, maybe wholly to the world, challenging everything and everyone because it was just a misdiagnosis and not CTE and it absolutely, positively was not going to be CTE, and _indefinite_ didn’t mean forever.

At least not in this instance.

Peggy yanked on Emma’s laces.  

“Hey,” Emma chastised softly, pulling away fingers and brushing kisses over the back of her daughter’s palm. Her phone was ringing again. It was probably Aurora again. It was definitely Aurora again.

She’d been avoiding Aurora like several different plagues.

Maybe she should have talked to Phillip about Aurora.

That felt like cheating.

“Hey, hey, hey, Pegs, what if we go on another field trip, huh?” Emma asked. She knew Peggy’s eyes didn’t _actually_ get brighter, but it was comforting to think that this conversation wasn’t quite as one-sided as it definitely was. “We can go see A and maybe get Dad to stop staring at film that’s only going to make him mad and then we can totally avoid Aurora again. That seems like a pretty good plan, right? Maybe get some hot chocolate?”

“Are you avoiding Aurora?”  
  
Emma jumped several feet in the air, clinging to Peggy and Ruby grinned from the doorway, arms cross and feet crossed and a smile on her face that felt a little predatory.

Peggy started crying.

“Jesus Christ,” Emma hissed, nearly tripping over several stacks of paper and Ruby’s smile only got more pronounced. “Where the hell did you come from?”  
  
“Like in general or just now?”   
  
“Ruby.”   
  
She moved her eyebrows quickly, uncrossing her limbs and crossing the threshold before taking Peggy out of Emma’s arms without asking. “Hey, Pegs,” she cooed, rocking her weight between her feet and it took, exactly, three seconds for the crying to stop completely. “Is your mom interrogating you? She realizes you can’t answer, right? And it’s only a little weird that she’s conversing with you? An actual, human baby?”   
  
“It’s good for them to hear voices and be acknowledged,” Emma pointed out. She sank onto the edge of her desk, one of the few places she _could_ do that and Ruby hummed.

It was decidedly placating.

And the phone was ringing again.

“Oh I’ve got no doubt you absolutely believe that,” Ruby said. “Or that it’s actually true.”  
  
“Where are you going with this?”   
  
“That you are wandering around your office, which incidentally looks like several different disasters, talking to a baby who can’t respond to you because you don’t want to voice your concerns to someone who can actually respond to you.”

Emma blinked. And pressed her lips together – tightly. She was, like, seventy-two percent positive the music got louder. But that might have just been the rushing in her ears and the pounding of her heart and she was not at all emotionally prepared for Ruby to get to the heart of the matter that quickly.

She was really pissed off at the Rangers for still winning.

And at Aurora for being worried about a goddamn, fucking banner. It was Gotham Hall. That banner was going to look ridiculous.

“How was that?” Ruby asked when Emma didn’t respond immediately.

“Absolutely terrible and totally wide of the net.”  
  
“Ah, that was actually funny, Em.”   
  
“I am occasionally funny,” she muttered, but she couldn’t quite get enough acid in her voice for it to sound like a convincing insult and she was way too tired to try again. Ruby probably knew that too.

“I’m still not disagreeing with you. But this joke felt a bit more like an attempt to prove how _fine_ you are instead of how good your sense of humor is.”   
  
“Did you just come in here to lecture me?”   
  
“I mean, kind of,” Ruby shrugged, and there was something to be said for honesty. “I wasn’t expecting to find you soliloquy'ing your kid though. Isn’t she supposed to be at daycare? Or anywhere that is not suffering permanent hearing damage?”   
  
“You think the music’s too loud?”   
  
“I could hear it when I got off the elevator.”   
  
“You work two floors above me.”   
  
Ruby shrugged again, waving a hand through the air. “And I wasn’t in my office. I was talking to Zelena because…”   
  
She trailed off, glancing around the office for something Emma hoped she didn’t find and she didn’t entirely expect the weight of absolute and total dread to land in her stomach quite that suddenly or quite that painfully.

“If this is about Casino Night budgets again I’m going to curse Zelena to several other realms,” Emma warned, drawing a quiet scoff out of Ruby and Peggy fussed in her arms again. “But I’ve got a sneaky suspicion it doesn’t actually have anything to do with Casino Night.”  
  
Ruby shook her head.

“Is that why you didn’t go on the road swing?”

“That was mostly because I didn’t feel like being in Arizona or Nevada right now.”  
  
“Because you’re trying to make sure I’m not staging several different mental breakdowns in my office?”   
  
“You words, not mine,” Ruby pointed out. She took a step forward, pressing the toe of her shoe on Emma’s outstretched foot and her smile had a hint of something that felt a hell of a lot like disappointment to it. The dread in Emma’s stomach moved to her heart. “And you’re pulling Pegs out of daycare so you can have one-sided conversations with her.”   
  
“It was just one day,” Emma reasoned, but the argument fell flat and it wasn’t much of an argument and she probably would have taken Matt out of school too if she knew he wouldn’t, somehow, find his way onto the ice. “She’s a good...distraction. Ah, shit that’s a terrible description. Don’t tell Killian I called her that, that’s not what I meant at all.”   
  
“I realize that. Although your inability to choose the right words is, like, at least five eighths of the reason I didn’t go on the swing. Plus, they’re going to roll, nothing’s going to happen in two games that the rest of my team couldn’t deal with on their own.”   
  
“It sounds very impressive when you call your two assistants your team.”

Ruby flashed her a smile – less emotional and just a little happier and Emma’s entire soul appreciated that, the air around her not feeling nearly as heavy as it had before. “I am incredibly impressive at all times,” Ruby muttered. “And some kind of baby whisperer. Which I think you should remember the next time you let Scarlet and Belle watch your kids before you ask me.”  
  
“That was kind of a spur of the moment thing.”   
  
“I do not care at all. He’s been bragging about how great they were at it. You know I got pictures of them designing defensive schemes on the PK?”   
  
“Matt is four,” Emma argued. “What kind of defensive schemes could he come up with?”   
  
“I’d imagine he got a good amount of direction from Scarlet, but it included a lot of blocking shots and they were a little worried about the chance of sticks breaking which, you know, is horrible on the PK. But then, and this is straight from Belle because Scarlet would never admit it, mini-Jones got bored by defense and announced he was only ever going to be on the power play so he could score.”

Emma’s heart sputtered.

Or stopped.

It felt like it stopped.

It hurt like it stopped.

She was glad Ruby was holding Peggy.

Emma dug her nails into her desk, a move that wasn’t going to do her any favors in the long run, but in the moment at least made sure she felt like she was still tethered to the Earth. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing her lungs to continue functioning and Spotify was playing some kind of 80s rock ballad.

She didn’t appreciate that.

Spotify could go fuck itself, honestly.

“Do you know how terrifying CTE stuff is?” Emma asked, wincing when the question came out like a shout and the fear in her voice seemed to reach out and slap her. “And I didn’t...I didn’t even really think about it until now. I mean even after knowing everything about Liam and what happened then. I just…” She sighed, twisting her ring in between her fingers and her laces fell halfway down her arm. She’d forgotten to eat again. She really needed to remember where Merida was.

“It’s really bad,” Emma finished lamely. “All the stuff that could happen or go wrong.”  
  
“It didn’t with Liam,” Ruby pointed out.

“It could have.”  
  
“Have you been looking up CTE symptoms?”   
  
“If I say no are you going to tell me I’m an enormous liar?”   
  
“No, but only because the question was really more rhetorical than anything else. Your crazy eyes were a pretty good answer. Plus the aforementioned soliloquy.”   
  
“It wasn’t a soliloquy,” Emma grumbled, but that was a lie too and she knew her eyes looked insane. “It was just a vocal listing of plans.”   
  
“Does Cap know you’re looking up symptoms to a disease he doesn’t actually have?”   
  
“If you tell him that I’m looking things up, I will push you in traffic, I swear.”

Ruby’s eyebrows jumped immediately, lips quirking and Emma wished her face wasn’t quite as expressive. It was way too judgmental. She let out a low whistle, tracing her tongue over the front of her teeth and her eyebrows didn’t move when she turned towards Peggy.

“I think you’re mom’s kind of lost her mind,” Ruby muttered, gaze flitting back towards Emma when she spoke again. “There’s a reason Scarlet didn’t mention any of this to Cap. Because his eyes would do the same thing yours are doing, but he’d probably get a stick from somewhere and check several people with it until they yielded.”  
  
Emma’s laugh was shaky and nervous, but Ruby was right and it wasn’t CTE. It would be fine. Ruby also wasn’t done.

“Nothing is going to happen to him, you know that right?” she asked. “There was a diagnosis and a name and Ariel said as long as he followed the schedule he’d be able to get back by playoffs.”  
  
“That’s if we make playoffs.”   
  
“You’re just looking for excuses now.”

Emma didn’t argue, couldn't and didn’t want to and in the great, big list of everything that could have gone wrong in a life that was otherwise pretty _fucking fantastic_ brain trauma wasn’t even close to making the list.

She hadn’t even considered it.

She’d thought about broken bones and ACL injuries and trades. She’d considered the possibility of blood clots and getting a skate to the back of the calf before she thought about concussions and the helmets were supposed to be better.

The hits weren’t supposed to be that hard.

There were rules.

That kid shouldn’t have lowered his shoulder.

“God, Mary Margaret really underestimated just how badly you’re dealing with this, huh?” Ruby murmured, and Emma almost didn’t realize she was talking to her.

She didn’t entirely appreciate it when she did.

“Are you gossiping about this?” Emma hissed, and Ruby actually had the audacity to roll her eyes. “Is that honestly what’s happening? Is the whole team doing it?”  
  
“Em, give us a little credit. We are not gossiping. We are worried. Exponentially. And Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret to save her life. You know this.”

She did.

And she knew it would, probably, be fine as long as they followed the schedule and actually made the playoffs and no one did anything even _more_ stupid, but her mind was running on some kind of previously unknown level, pointing out everything that could go wrong and had already gone wrong and they’d been winning.

And she still couldn’t quite figure out why Killian didn’t tell her.

Or how she didn’t notice.

“Cap wasn’t keeping secrets because he’s an ass,” Ruby continued. She dropped next to Emma, bumping shoulders and they should have changed the playlist if they were going to have this conversation. The whole thing felt a little absurd. “You know that too, right?”

Emma nodded. “In theory.”  
  
“And in practice?”   
  
“I keep researching CTE symptoms and signs and what to look for when handling a loved one dealing with multiple concussions.”   
  
“That sounded a little clinical.”   
  
“It’s easier to deal with if I get a little clinical, honestly,” Emma mumbled. “Like I’m dealing with it from an outside perspective or observing or something.”   
  
“Yeah, how’s that working out for you?”   
  
“Like shit.”   
  
Ruby scoffed, resting her head on Emma’s shoulder and at some point they’d both started holding Peggy at the same time, fingers dancing over Rangers-branded merch and neither one of the Jones kids ever wore anything except blue.

“That endorsement deal fell through,” Emma whispered, not sure if she was supposed to broadcast the news, but Regina had told Killian before the team left the night before and maybe half her current research was being solely fueled by the look on his face. Like the entire world was ending.

He’d barely said two words for the rest of the night.

“I figured that would happen,” Ruby said. “That doesn’t mean Gina won’t get something better next season. She’ll probably get double the money from like...Nike or whatever on the force of her anger and the power of her glare alone.”  
  
“I don’t think Nike’s affiliated with the NHL. NFL, maybe. NBA definitely. Maybe, like, track and field because they’re in Oregon, right?”   
  
“I think that’s Under Armour.”   
  
“Nah, that’s Baltimore.”   
  
“Why do you know that?”

Emma shrugged, but she’d researched that too and Killian Jones was already the face of the NHL, but an endorsement deal and an equipment deal would have been _big_ and several adjectives worth several zeroes and it would have been more than hockey.

She almost understood why he didn’t tell her about the headaches.

“It’s not CTE,” Ruby repeated, like that would get Emma’s mind to stop thinking or worrying or plotting for the metaphorical end of the world. “And this isn’t the NFL, Em. We’re usually way better at preventing this kind of stuff.”  
  
“I know that.”   
  
“Do you? Your music and baby theft suggests otherwise.”   
  
“She’s my baby,” Emma argued, groaning when Ruby laughed under her breath. “God, that sounded more defensive than calling her a distraction. Just...don’t tell Killian about any part of this conversation, ok?”   
  
“I’ve got no plans to do that at all, because I am not Mary Margaret, but I do think you should probably tell Cap about every single part of this conversation yourself. Tonight. You should have already, but you’re trying to save the Casino Night budget. And you’re you, plus Cap is him and he’s lurking on the bench.”   
  
“How do you know that?”   
  
Ruby stared at her incredulously, another judgmental look and there was not enough oxygen in any of the known universes for the amount of sighing Emma kept doing. “That’s insulting,” Ruby said. “And I knew about Locksley and Scarlet’s plan to intervention him.”   
  
“Can you use that as a verb?”   
  
“I just did, so…”   
  
“So let it be written,” Emma intoned, the sarcasm almost audibly dripping off her words. “I don’t think he wants to go to Casino Night.”   
  
“Do you?”   
  
“Not really. This budget is ridiculous and I’m considering several threats to the entire state of New Jersey at this point.”   
  
Ruby chuckled, making a face at Peggy, but her expression turned serious when she looked at Emma. “Zelena wants to do a promo on the new guy,” she said bluntly, and Emma had to swallow before she could completely process those words in that order.

“What?”  
  
“That’s why I wasn’t in my office. She...well, he’s been playing well and I guess there’s been some interest and one of my assistants said _The Post_ wants to do a feature and--”   
  
“--He’s an AHL replacement,” Emma yelled, a noise Peggy did _not_ appreciate and Ruby gaped at her when her voice cracked. She was standing up. She didn’t remember deciding to do that. “He’s not going to stick around that long.”   
  
“At least until the playoffs, Em,” Ruby said.

“He’s not going to be on the team that long.”  
  
“Emma…”   
  
“No, no, c’mon,” Emma argued, not sure if it _was_ an argument or just her desperation, finally, boiling over, but Ruby looked a little wary of her when she started pacing a small circle on the few inches of open floor. “Who even is this guy? He’s not anyone. He’s not even that fast.”   
  
“I don’t think being fast is a prerequisite for being a good NHL player. It’s just plus.”   
  
“Well, he’s got a negative, then!”   
  
“I know you’re pissed, so I’m going to overlook that sentence.”

Emma cursed under her breath, tugging her hair over her shoulder and huffing out air she probably could have used to maintain her higher brain functions. “Does Killian know about any of this?”  
  
Ruby shook her head. “No, I came here first, because uh…”   
  
She wished she hadn’t stood up.

She wished the Earth would stop throwing metaphorical curveballs directly at her face.

She wished she could stop coming up with sports-based clichés.

“I’m not doing that,” Emma whispered, and she knew Ruby heard every word perfectly. “I’m not. Zelena can come down here and tell me if she wants to and I’ll tell her the same exact thing. I’m not hyping up some guy who shouldn’t even be on the team.”  
  
“He should be on the team, Em.”   
  
“No, he shouldn’t!”

The words sounded insane. She sounded insane. And her breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving and tears pricking the corners of her eyes and she was going to rip her laces in half if she didn’t stop yanking on them.

“He shouldn’t,” Emma repeated softly. Ruby moved a pile of papers before she walked towards her, resting a hand on her shoulder and trying to brush away tears and _the team kept winning_. She hoped that wasn’t a sign.

That was a shit sign.

“It’s not going to stay that way,” Ruby said, a promise she absolutely could not keep because the internet kept saying these things were _temperamental_ and _it was a waiting game_ and there wasn’t much to do except hope it got better.

“Right,” Emma mumbled. “Right, right. It’s...going to be fine. It is fine. Currently.”  
  
“Man, that was really bad.”   
  
She let out a watery laugh, squeezing her eyes closed when her hair found its way back into the grip of a questionably strong thirteen-month-old. “Super bad,” Emma agreed. “So, uh...if Mary Margaret told you about everything, I’m guessing she told you about…”

“Tink offering you a job? Emma nodded. “Oh, yeah, she opened with that because she knows not to bury her lede. I also heard from Tink, but that’s a whole other story.”  
  
“How do you know her?”   
  
“Well, first of all, I know everyone, so jot that down. And secondly, Regina knew her from the get. They went to college together or something. She tried to set her up with Cap once.”   
  
Emma’s mouth dropped, something that almost felt like wholly irrational jealous flashing through every inch of her, and she really needed Ruby to consider her conversational reactions before she did them. Laughing was not helping her state of mind.

“Relax, green-eyed monster,” Ruby muttered. “You’re the only one the set-up ever worked for. So retract those incredibly possessive claws.”  
  
“I don’t have claws.”   
  
“You had, like, slightly pointed nails. What did you say to Tink? And what did she say to you?

“Not much, really,” Emma said. “She told me she knew who I was and what a good job I’d been doing in New York and that she was offering me a job.”  
  
“And?”   
  
“And what?”   
  
“What did you tell her? That was almost a week ago.”

Emma shrugged. “I told her I’d think about it.”  
  
“Have you?”   
  
“Absolutely not.”

Ruby’s laugh wasn’t unexpected, but it was still a little jarring and almost as loud as the 80s music that was still, inexplicably, playing. “Of course not,” Ruby mumbled, a note of familiarity in her voice that was, almost, endearing. Her eyes darted to Emma’s desk when her phone made another noise, and neither of them were psychic, but they were both pretty good at making educated guess and it was only a matter of time.

And the world appeared to have a very twisted sense of humor.

“Stop reading the internet,” Ruby commanded. “And answer your phone.”

Emma took a deep breath, and she’d run out of places to run – metaphorical or otherwise – because there was stuff all over the floor and Ruby wouldn’t let go of Peggy and she knew all the words to the song playing from her computer speakers.

That felt like a sign too.

“Hello?”

“Emma,” Tink said brightly “I feel like we’re playing phone tag.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, it’s uh...it’s been a bit of a crazy week since the break and we’re getting ready for our Casino Night and--”   
  
“--Oh, no I understand completely. I’m just happy I was able to catch you when you weren’t busy. I’ve spoken to your assistant several times.”   
  
“What?”   
  
Tink made a noise from wherever the hell she was, a hum and audible confusion, and Emma’s head snapped to Ruby, met with a shrug because she wasn’t Elsa Vankald-Jones and didn’t have supersonic hearing.

“I’ve spoken to your assistant several times,” Tink said slowly. “She said you were in meetings for most of the week or out of the office.”

Emma was going to have to buy Merida a new apartment. Or something. A car. A car was impractical in Manhattan. Maybe she’d just give her her job.

She was better at it anyway.

“Right,” Emma said, the word sounding strained and force and Ruby shook her head like there’d been a question at all. “Well, I’ve got a few minutes if you’re good.”  
  
“Emma, I called you.”   
  
“Right.”   
  
“I wanted to give you a bit more information on what exactly it is I’m offering you,” Tink started. “It is, frankly, an incredible opportunity.”   
  
“I’m all ears,” Emma mumbled, dropping back onto her desk. Ruby snickered.

It sounded like Tink smiled. “Perfect. Well, as I said, the league has taken notice of the work you’ve done in New York and, particularly, the work you’ve done with children and the Rangers. I think you’ve single-handedly sparked an entire new generation of Blueshirts fans.”  
She paused, like she was expecting Emma to laugh or agree and Ruby scowled when Emma didn’t do either.

“Anyway,” Tink continued. “The board of governors wants to continue to do just that. We want to expand the game to the youth and help grow interest across the country, maybe even the world. There’s been some talk of playing a few games in Europe and possibly a Winter Classic in Finland in 2030 and--”

“--And what does that have to do with me?” Emma interrupted. Ruby’s face was going to get stuck like that.

“Everything, in fact.”  
  
“These conversations always seem to end with me telling you I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I can’t imagine that’s a good first impression.”   
  
“Oh, we’re on a much later impression than that,” Tink promised. “Double digits, at least. That’s why I’ve been so understanding about your schedule, particularly with your husband’s injury. That kid they brought up from the ‘Pack scored a nice goal a few days ago, though.”   
  
Emma grit her teeth. “Yes, he did. What exactly does this job mean, Tink?”   
  
“You’d still be based in New York, I can guarantee that upfront. I know you’ve got young children to consider and I noticed your son was on the ice during the Skills competition.”

Emma took another deep breath, large enough that she was sure her lungs were going to jump out of her body and object loudly to the move. Ruby didn’t appear to be breathing. The computer was playing _We Built This City_. They’d never turned the volume down.

“Although there would be a considerable amount of travel involved,” Tink continued, and maybe they should get Elsa to schedule everyone’s conversations because she appeared to be the only person who could go from one point to the other coherently.

“Travel,” Emma echoed. Tink hummed from, maybe, Toronto.

“Oh yeah, of course. How else do you think you’re going to help run the events?”  
  
“You haven’t been exactly forthcoming with that part.”   
  
Tink laughed lightly, a chair squeaking in the background and Emma made a mental note to ask Regina this woman’s entire life history. She’d make Roland stand next to her when she did. Then Regina wouldn't be able to argue.

“The idea is to get kids on the ice,” Tink explained. “To increase youth participation in places where it hasn’t been all that impressive in the last few years. That means skating clinics, meet and greets with players and coaches and alums, instructional events and, I’m afraid, anti-concussion measures.”

“I’m not pro concussion,” Emma muttered, the words finding their way out of her without any sort of filter. Ruby had to press her face into Peggy’s stomach to muffle her laugh.

Tink clicked her tongue. “I’m not suggesting you are, just that it might be a touchy subject currently. But, as I’ve said, league-wide community relations has been a growing part of the brand over the last two decades. We’ve helped renovate arenas and get facilities into towns, now we want to make sure kids are interested and taught well from the moment they lace up.”  
  
“And you think I’m the best person for that job?” Emma asked skeptically.

“I wouldn’t be stalking you via phone if I didn’t.”

“That’s fair.”

“You’d get your own office, a team of professionals who’d be more than willing to do your bidding. I’m sure you can even take that assistant who’s very good at lying with you, if you wanted to. The pay would be...competitive, let’s say. And it’d be secure. This the direction the NHL wants to take with its fanbase. That’s not going to change any time soon.

I realize you’re busy, Emma,” Tink continued, a sudden business-like approach that didn’t quite match up with her voice. Emma sat up straighter. “But I think you’re the perfect fit for this. I think you can affect the game. I think you can do something incredibly positive with this opportunity and I’m going to need an answer by the end of the month.”

The phone went dead before Emma could even open her mouth, let alone with respond, and she exhaled so loudly her whole body heaved forward.

“So, uh, we going to dance party some more or, like, what’s the plan here?” Ruby asked, Emma’s laugh loud and slightly unstable.

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s totally the plan here.”

Emma managed to successfully avoid both Aurora and Zelena for the rest of the day, tugging Merida into her office when Ruby announced they _had to switch to 70s music before I go insane_ and there was more dancing and a distinct lack of professionalism, but she did at least eat lunch, so she figured it all balanced out in the end.

And there was a game that night.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, twisting awkwardly in the back of the car to try and grab it and Killian had picked Matt up again. Emma had to change into merch in her office.

**Did you know that Arizona is the country’s leading copper producer and that the Arizona capital is covered in the equivalent to 4,800,000 pennies?**

Emma laughed out of instinct and years of doing just that and feeling even more and those were decidedly sentimental thoughts, but her shirt was almost identical to Peggy’s so comparatively it really felt normal.

**_I did not know that. Why did you know that?_ **

**If I tell you that I had to look it up is that cheating?**

**_Nah_** **.**

**Then I totally knew it off the top of my head.**

She was only a little worried her smile was going to get stuck on her face, but there wasn’t as much traffic and a pair of Jones jerseys waiting for them outside the restaurant.

“Mom,” Matt cried as soon as Emma opened the door, dodging Killian’s arms and nearly taking her out at the knees. “Mom! Mom! Did you know that ice cream was invented in St. Louis?”  
  
“What?”   
  
Killian groaned, hands stuffed in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels and Emma furrowed her brows in confusion. “That’s not what the fact was,” he mumbled. “The ice cream _cone_ was invented in New York, the guy got a patent and everything, but it was popularized at the St. Louis World’s Fair where the guy twisted a waffle into a cone-type shape.”   
  
“Naturally.”

“There was an educational part to the whole thing.”  
  
“Yuh huh,” Emma muttered, but her smile still felt stuck on her face and Matt was wearing his All-Star jersey. Killian shrugged when she looked at him. “What kind of ice cream did you get, Mattie? Were there sprinkles involved?”

“Chocolate and chocolate,” Matt yelled, and Killian shook his head.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Emma grinned, swiping her thumb over a missed spot of evidence at the corner of his mouth. “You still want dinner though? Because A and Eric may be upset if you don’t eat their food.”  
  
“Onion rings?”

“It’s an away game, kid. There’s always onion rings.”

He nodded enthusiastically, turning on his heels and running into the restaurant with their _usual_ order on his tongue and Emma was fairly certain that was unnecessary. She also wasn’t sure if Killian could move.

“You ok?” she asked, a loaded question that seemed to be playing on loop out of her for the last week and a half. He nodded, but it looked stiff and unnatural and he had to twist his arms when Peggy reached for him. “We didn’t have to come, you know.”  
  
“Red would have killed me.”   
  
“You show for PT or just play hookie with ice cream?”   
  
“The ice cream happened after I walked the world’s slowest recorded mile.”   
  
“Somehow I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration. And this whole stupid team can do several words I won’t say out loud in case they wreck Peggy’s mental state. Honestly. This has nothing to do with them. I can yell if you want.”   
  
“You don’t have to yell, Swan,” Killian murmured. “Are you worried about Peggy’s mental state?”

“I mean, a little,” Emma admitted. “But mostly yours.”  
  
“I’m fine.”   
  
“So I’ve heard.”   
  
“Still true,” he said.

“Did he pick that jersey on his own?”  
  
Killian’s lips twitched, tongue darting between them and that was as much an answer as any of the words he could actually say. “Immediately,” he said. “I guess it’s got to get some use.”

“Was the ice cream before or after the costume change?”

“Before,” Killian laughed. “We ate the ice cream on the way home from school. I figured there was more time in between that and the onion rings then.”

“Super dad.”

He shifted Peggy between them, bending to brush his lips over hers and it wasn’t enough, but they were on a sidewalk and she could hear Ruby shouting and Mary Margaret trying to quiet her and she kind of wanted onion rings. “C’mon, love,” he said. “I’m sure there’s protocol I’ve got to follow for away games.”

There was, in fact, protocol, but Emma assumed it helped when you wore a shirt only actual team members got because your sister was also dating the equipment manager and it was all going pretty well.

There hadn’t been any fights, no terrifying hits, not even a penalty kill.

Matt kept shouting about offsides, but Emma wasn’t entirely convinced he was entirely sure what offsides was, and Killian kept an arm wrapped around his waist when he climbed onto the table that was always theirs.   
  
“You realize you’re mumbling instructions under your breath, right?” Emma asked, glancing at Killian out of the corner of her eye. The third period had just started, Arizona winning the faceoff and neither Roland nor Matt were very impressed by that.

“What?” Killian muttered. He didn’t take his eyes away from the TV.

“Instructions. Pass right and cross ‘em, which I didn’t entirely understand, and there was a few times in the second when they were all up against the boards and you just kept chanting _ht him_ over and over again.”

Killian laughed, switching grips on Matt so he could lace his hand through Emma’s. Her heart fluttered. Or something less ridiculous with two kids and goddamn _brain trauma_ and he smirked when he looked at her.

“He should have hit him that’s why,” Killian explained. “No one’s going to call that. Not in a scrum in in the first week of February. And certainly not in a non-divisional game.”  
  
“Seems like a lot of prerequisites.”   
  
He shrugged. “I almost know what I’m talking about.”

“Almost. Seriously what did _cross ‘em_ mean? I can’t figure it out.”   
  
“You could have asked.”   
  
“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

Killian did something wholly unfair with every inch of his face, eyes practically flashing in the dim light of the bar and the hockey game on the TV and Emma wasn’t sure who groaned louder Ruby or David or Ariel.

Mary Margaret looked a little teary-eyed.

Leo had fallen asleep before the first period ended.

“If you guys are going to flirt this obviously, I need you to do it, like, twenty feet away from me,” David said. “At least.”

“Is this flirting, Swan?” Killian asked, and she knew she didn’t imagine how he leaned towards her. His arm didn’t move away from Matt. Absurd upper body strength.

Emma shrugged. “Kind of feels that way, doesn’t it?”

“It could certainly be argued that way.”

“I’m going to arrest both of you,” David warned.

“I don’t think you’ve got that kind of power, Detective,” Emma said. “What exactly is the crime?”

“Grossness.”

Ariel snorted into her drink, Ruby nearly choking on a half-cold onion ring, and Emma wished her glares had magical powers like Regina. It’d probably make her more intimidating.

“Shut up, David,” Ariel muttered. “This is almost cute. I mean it’s super gross because your kid is right there and we’re right here, but it’s also kind of endearing in a romance type way.”  
  
“Stop talking, Red,” Killian said. “Swan, you want to keep flirting with me and break all of the rules of this ridiculous tradition?”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” Emma muttered, and it was a very strange, slightly dangerous balancing act while one of them was trying to keep a four-year-old from falling off the table, but she swore she felt actual electricity when Killian’s mouth found hers.

She was probably so sentimental because she hadn’t really been sleeping.

Maybe they needed some help.  

And someone did, eventually, have to score.

They goal sound went off, ricocheting off the walls of the restaurant and, what felt like, the inside of Emma’s head, and she hated the AHL kid.

Her eyes flashed to Killian, jaw set and shoulders straight and she could feel the tension rolling off him as clearly as if it were being broadcast as well, a muscle in his temple jumping as soon as the first line crashed against Husinger in the corner of the ice.   
  
“Em,” David mumbled at the same time Ariel whispered “Cap,” and she shook her head hard enough it hurt her spine.

Her hand was still wrapped up in Killian’s.

“You want to get some air?”

“Yeah,” Killian said, standing up and fixing Matt’s jersey. “Here, c’mon, get off the table, Mattie. You uh…”  
  
“We’ve got it, Cap,” Ruby promised. “C’mere, mini-Jones. Let’s talk strategy.”

He didn’t let go of her hand when they walked back onto the block, or possibly the other way around, leaning against the side of the restaurant because there was snow on the curb.

“I’m sorry about--”

“--No, no, don’t apologize,” Emma cut in, and seriously she needed to ask Elsa for conversational tips. Maybe she needed to ask several people for help. Killian blinked in surprise, a fair reaction to the absolute vitriol in her voice and Emma wasn’t mad at him.

She was mad at...the world.

That sounded ridiculous. There wasn’t really anything to be mad about. Killian was _fine_ and would be fine and this team would probably make the playoffs, but Emma’s brain would not _shut up_ and even an absurd dance party in her office wasn’t enough to distract her for more than a few hours when that AHL asshole scored another goal.

“Red was upset she didn’t get an invite to your club this afternoon,” Killian said, mouth tugging up when Emma spun towards him. “Although I was a little confused by the specifics of it.”  
  
“It was kind of impromptu. How did she find out?”   
  
“How does anyone find out anything on this team? An absurd string of talking and gossip and interfering in each other’s lives.”

Emma laughed, humming in the back of her throat and Killian tugged her hand up when she tried to rest them both on his chest, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “When I was in school, I usually went to Reese’s house on breaks,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice light. “But one time, Christmas break of senior year, David invited both of us to his mom’s house. Ruth had way more rum for pies than Mr. Blanchard did. And she also had a questionably large record collection. Old 45s and singles an almost impressive amount of Beatles albums, like every one and then some collectors editions, and it was just...enormous.

And one day, Ruth went shopping and left us in her house with her alcohol and her music and we got incredibly tipsy on rum and found her collection of 80s hair bands. Ruth loved White Snake, you know.”

Killian’s laugh was more a guffaw, hot air moving over Emma’s skin because he’d never actually pulled his lips away from her wrist. She hoped he couldn’t feel how quickly it kept beating.

“I can’t quite imagine that,” he admitted.

“Swear to God, it’s totally true. So we started listening to White Snake and Duran Duran and Reese’s put on a pretty fantastic show of singing _Living on a Prayer_ and Ruth totally caught us, but then she started singing too and it might have been the best Christmas I’d ever had until--”

“--Until,” Killian interrupted sharply, and Emma knew her cheeks were flushed. She’d blame the cold. It didn’t have anything to do with the cold.

“Until we stole a Christmas tree,” she said. “And every subsequent iteration after that just keeps getting better, don’t you think?” Killian nodded. “But, uh...the 80s thing kind of stuck with me and Reese’s and it’s a comfort thing or something less lame sounding.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound lame.”   
  
“That’s generous of you.”   
  
“I promise, Swan,” Killian said, and there was no way to doubt it or him or them and she needed to stop looking up CTE symptoms. She wished Husinger hadn’t scored. “I didn’t know that though.”

“I’m full of surprises, I guess.”  
  
He hummed, moving to the side of her jaw and the curve of her cheek and Emma bit her lip so David wouldn’t actually arrest them for public indecency. “I need to tell you something,” she muttered. He didn’t stop kissing her. “Killian, I’m serious.”

He leaned back, face even and Emma felt like she was standing at center ice in the middle of overtime and there was probably another gold medal on the line.

That was probably easier than this.

“I, um…” Emma started, tilting her head and hitting herself in the face with her hair. “I don’t think it’s going to actually matter, but you’re right about this team and I didn’t want you to hear from someone else before me and…”

“What, Swan?”  
  
“The league offered me a job.”   
  
Killian blinked, opening his mouth only to close it again and she didn’t expect him to kiss her.

His arm wrapped around her waist tightly, pulling her flush against his chest and that tongue thing was _ridiculous_ because she couldn’t think when he did that, and Emma was sure he’d planned it that way.

She felt like she was breathing him in, fingers moving on their own and into his hair and she gasped when his hips canted up, rocking against her and the brick wall behind him in equal measure. Emma had to press up on her toes to reach him, a fact Killian didn’t seem particularly inclined to complain about any time soon.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma mumbled, earning a groan for talking that might have been because her left hand had found its way under his shirt. “That’s...this was unexpected.”  
  
“That’s incredible, Swan.”   
  
“What?”

“A job with the league?” Killian asked, leaning back again with a disbelieving look on his face. “That’s incredible. And exactly what you deserve to be doing, love.”  
  
“But I don’t…”   
  
“You don’t what?”   
  
“I just don’t have time to think about that right now.”   
  
He blinked again. She didn’t want him to do that. She was stupid attracted to the color of his eyes. “What does that mean?”   
  
“I’ve just got a million other things to do,” Emma explained, and she was ready for his eyebrows that time. They twisted and turned and arched and she had to breathe through her nose to stop herself from sighing too loudly. “And I bet they’ve got plenty of other people who could do it better than I could.”   
  
“They asked you though.”   
  
“I don’t really want to focus on it now. Let me get through Casino Night and that stupid thing we’ve got to do because Phillip hit some point marker first.”   
  
“When is that?”   
  
“Hopefully before Casino Night,” Emma quipped, and she felt Killian’s laugh before she heard it, lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “I just didn’t want you to hear about it from Rubes or Reese’s before I told you.”   
  
“Do they know about it?”

Emma nodded. “They were both there when I got the phone calls.”  
  
“Plural?” Killian asked, voice catching on the word and eyes widening slightly and that was worse than the blinking.

“Tink was very determined, I guess.” It could not have been good for his face to be experiencing so many emotional changes at once. “Yeah, yeah,” Emma muttered, tugging on his t-shirt and one of them should have grabbed a coat. “Ruby told me about that. I mean you wanted to have two painfully adorable kids with me, so I’m not really threatened by the league lady with the slightly ridiculous laugh.”  
  
“We could keep making out on the sidewalk if that’d help.”   
  
“Nah, I bet David would actually arrest us. Hey, you think we can get him to arrest this AHL jerk? I bet I could get him to do it.”   
  
“He’s doing his job, Swan,” Killian said. “He’s supposed to score goals, I don’t think that makes him a jerk by default.”   
  
Emma nodded, lower lip jutted out slightly. There were goosebumps on her arms. “That was good,” she mused. “Super convincing, appropriate PR response.”   
  
“I’ve been practicing.”   
  
“Yeah, I figured. I was almost totally serious about the arrest.”

“I know you were, love, and as much as I appreciate that particular abuse of power, I think we’re good. And you should send the season tickets the e-mail thing about him. It’s ok.”

She almost stumbled over her own feet, jerking back and only staying upright when Killian’s hand tightened around the back of her shirt. “How?” Emma demanded.

“Zelena found me. Told me she knew you’d put up a fight and maybe I could help.”  
  
“Jeez.”

“It’s not your fault, Swan,” Killian said, and she knew they weren’t just talking about Husinger. “None of it. You’ve got to do your job. And that was a good goal.”  
  
“It was a shit goal and he’s a shit winger and I hate him.”   
  
Killian chuckled, kissing her quick and Emma chased after him, but they needed to get back into the restaurant and she heard the door swing open around the corner. “That’s the spirit,” Killian mumbled.

“Hey, uh, guys,” David called. “There’s some kind of argument happening here about proper faceoff technique and I think Matt’s going to challenge Rol to drop gloves.”  
  
“Yeah, we’ll be right there,” Killian said. The door sounded very loud when it closed. “It’s alright, Swan,” he continued. “Admittedly not great, but…”   
  
He shrugged, mouth twisted and Emma’s heart lurched, some kind of deep-rooted need to make sure he knew how _good_ he was and better than that and he deserved a better schedule than the one they’d come up with.

“Super dad,” she whispered instead, and Killian kissed her before they went back into the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for clicking and reading and being genuinely fantastic. It's lovely. 
> 
> Feel free to come hang out on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if your'e so inclined.


	6. Chapter 6

“Go back to sleep.”  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
“Swan.”  
  
She flipped, hair flying everywhere and almost getting in his mouth, and Killian winced when her knee collided with his shin. “Ah, shit,” Emma mumbled, untwisting the blanket that had, somehow, moved in between them. “I wasn’t trying to do that.”  
  
“You mean to tell me you weren’t actively attempting to incapacitate me?” Killian asked, and he knew the joke didn’t land before he’d even finished making it.

Emma laughed, but it was more an exhale and a sigh, and she licked her lips quickly, like she was being timed and that was kind of true because it was Saturday, but she still had meetings with Zelena and Aurora and something with Sam and Joe about MC’ing an event they’d done for the last thirty years.

And Phillip’s memorial or whatever.

That wasn’t the right word at all, but it was some kind of celebration because, it seemed, setting a of rookie scoring record was a pretty good starting point for a career and Phillip had reached three-hundred points before anyone expected him too and, apparently, that meant there had to be some sort of ceremony.

That was the word for it.

It also meant Emma had to plan it and he knew there were, at least, fifty-six post-it notes detailing the breakdown of the whole goddamn thing on every inch of her desk.

She’d run out of floor space two days before. And Merida had to get her a new chair the day before that because Emma kept piling paperwork in her own seat.

Killian wanted to go back to sleep.

“We’ve got time,” he muttered, ignoring whatever the air was doing around them. Filling with tension and bad jokes and he was so goddamn tired of being worried and, generically, tired.

It was a miracle their bedroom door hadn’t been knocked over yet.

Or at least slightly checked against.

Matt liked to try and check the door.

“I have no time,” Emma argued. “I have, like, negative amounts of time. I should be in the shower already.”  
  
Killian grinned, tongue against the inside of his cheek and eyes a bit wider than usual, and Emma’s laugh sounded genuine that time. He swore he could _feel_ it, fixing the air and probably all of the greenhouse issues on the entire planet and she closed her eyes when he pulled her against his chest.

“That could be very easily fixed, you know,” he muttered, mostly into her hair. Her whole body shook against him, which wasn’t really helping their cause or his desire to go back to sleep because it was _Saturday_ and there wasn’t a game, and they should be able to linger in each other’s space for awhile.

“I don’t think that’s true at all.”

“How do you figure?”  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Emma asked, propping her head on one hand and her hair fell over her arm. “I’m counting the actual seconds until someone throws something at that door.”  
  
“I really doubt Peggy’s got that kind of upper-body strength yet. Maybe if we add some weights to her workout.”  
  
“Really confident in your own sense of humor, huh?”

Killian hummed, smirk back on his face and something that might have actually been butterflies in his stomach, which didn’t make any sense at all because he was flirting with his own wife and talking about their thirteen-month-old attacking the half-closed door on the other side of the room, but it was _nice_ in a way that home was _nice_ and _comforting_ and _safe_ and maybe he could hide Emma’s phone.

That seemed kind of immature.

“Occasionally,” Killian said, dropping his hand to trace over the curve of Emma’s hip. Her eyes fluttered again, teeth finding her lower lip and the butterflies disappeared almost immediately.

“Sometimes,” Emma amended, and her voice was just a bit breathless. He was going to count that as several different victories. “You know she almost kept her balance without holding onto anything for, like, a solid two seconds yesterday afternoon.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Emma nodded, smile wide despite her obvious efforts to _stay cool_ and Killian was only slightly worried that his heart was going to do permanent damage to his chest cavity. Ariel would be pissed about that.

He’d walked too quickly on the treadmill yesterday, so she was out for blood.

“Yeah,” Emma continued. “You were making jokes about upper-body strength, but that kid is ridiculously strong. Like He-Woman or something.”  
  
“Is that a compliment?”  
  
“It is when I’m saying it.”  
  
“Ah, of course,” Killian chuckled, kissing between Emma’s eyebrows before he could stop himself. Maybe they didn’t have to go back to sleep. Maybe they could just evolve into some kind of picture-perfect family of his fluff-type dreams and he wouldn’t miss Peggy’s displays of upper-body strength because he was trying to keep his heart rate at a medically approved level.

It wasn’t at the moment.

He was sure.

“So, we were in my office and Zelena was waxing poetic about food choices, which is absurd because we’ve done this before and the food is always the same and Gotham has, like, one catering option and--”

“--Focus, Swan.”

She stuck her tongue out. He kissed her jaw. He kind of wanted to kiss everywhere else.

“You are impatient,” Emma accused, and Killian couldn't really argue with that. “Anyway, we were in my office and I was ignoring Zelena and Pegs totally pulled herself up, waddled around for approximately two and a half seconds and then promptly fell over. But it was a very impressive two and a half seconds.”  
  
“Two and a half, huh?”  
  
“Eh, maybe closer to three. We'll round up for the kid, you know?”

“Naturally,” Killian muttered, but he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening to his entire body and it felt like a mix of happiness and disappointment and a little frustration and he wished he could just pick one emotion and stick with it.

He wished he hadn’t missed that.

He wished he didn’t have more PT that afternoon.

“Hey,” Emma said, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt she could tug on. She settled for brushing her fingers over his forehead instead and, that time, it was Killian’s turn for his eyes to flutter shut, a ragged breath falling out of him and he wished he had the answers for several dozen questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask. “You ok?”  
  
“You keep asking me that, love,” he muttered. He hadn’t opened his eyes.

“It’s because I’m consistently curious. And worried. Probably more than curious.”  
  
“I know, Swan. I don’t want you to worry though. You’ve got enough to think about already. Zelena shouldn't be talking about the food. It’s the same every year.”  
  
“That’s true,” Emma agreed. “But, strange as it may seem, I’m almost ok with worrying about you. It’s part of the deal.”  
  
Killian opened his eyes, arching an eyebrow and he wasn’t entirely prepared for the slightly nervous look on Emma’s face. “The deal, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, you know, indefinitely or whatever. For concussions or worse.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s exactly what we said.”  
  
She couldn’t shrug when she was on her side, but she certainly made an effort and Killian briefly wondered if maybe that was where their daughter got her distinct lack of balance from. Emma wobbled a bit, eyes widening a fraction of an inch and it was all _green_ and _emotional_ and _for concussions or worse_ didn’t really sound that bad.

“Semantics,” Emma mumbled. “Worrying about you isn’t...it’s not a job. It’s instinct or something that sounds way less lame than that.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound lame,” Killian said, and he probably shouldn't have responded that quickly or that enthusiastically, but he’d kind of lost control of everything and the world consistently felt as if it were spinning out of orbit, even when he was walking as slowly as possible. So, really, shouting emotions in Emma’s face was kind of a return to the usual.

She laughed softly, a sound he would have been more than willing to hear for the rest of forever if that weren’t even more lame than what Emma had just said.

“When’s the last time you had a headache?”

Killian clicked his tongue, trying to think back through the last week and they’d played in Vegas the night before, a loss that was dangerously close to a blowout and Jeff had broken his stick after the final whistle and Arthur had, undoubtedly, broken several whiteboards, but Husinger had gotten another point and it was a good assist.

They were going to be back on Garden ice that afternoon.

Will had texted him when they landed.

Robin complained about Husinger talking loudly on the flight.

“Not in awhile,” Killian said when Emma made an impatient sound at his silence.

“That’s not a date.”  
  
“I’m not writing it down, Swan.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be?”  
  
“Those weren’t part of the instructions. I was told to stay off the ice and not walk too quickly and take medicine. I’m doing that. I was not told to document symptoms.”  
  
She didn’t say anything immediately, eyes tracing over his face as soon as his jaw snapped closed and the whole thing had been kind of ridiculous. This wasn’t the doctor’s fault. Well, not completely. It wasn’t even that kid’s fault – even if he’d led with his shoulder and he probably should have gotten fined. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

It had happened.

And he hadn’t done anything about it because he was…

It was fine.

That Husinger guy couldn't get a point in every game. That was impossible. And he talked too loudly on the team plane. Arthur wouldn't let that happen on another road trip.

He wouldn’t be first line very long.

And Killian couldn’t get _playoffs, at the earliest, maybe_ out of the back corners of his brain.

_It was fine_.

“You know I bet we could get Pegs to weeble around the apartment for a little while,” Emma said. Killian grinned. And kissed her. Again.

“Weeble?”  
  
“Yeah, you know, weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down. She kind of looks like a weeble in a ridiculous amount of Jones-branded merchandise.”  
  
“Jones-branded?”  
  
“Please,” Emma scoffed, sliding across the bed and slinging one arm over his middle. It was difficult to keep up with what she said next when her fingers started tracing over his spine, drawing patterns that weren’t much more than straight lines, but felt a bit like vaguely emotional brands and it was way too early for those kind of pointed thoughts.

“Neither one of them realize there’s another person on this team,” she added. She’d moved again at some point, legs tangled with Killian’s and head tucked against the curve of his neck. He could feel her breathing, not entirely sure if the brush of her lips against his skin was wishful thinking or actually happening, and it didn’t really matter because Matt had thrust a piece of paper into Killian’s stomach when he picked him up at school the day before.

Of the New York Rangers winning a Stanley Cup.

And Killian in the middle.

Next to Matt.

They were stick figures and not quite an exact likeness, but there was some dark hair and a few shakily-drawn twenties drawn in open space and he’d folded it up and put it in his wallet.

He didn’t think he’d ever take it out.

Maybe he was just thinking pointed thoughts at all times now.

“He told me about the picture,” Emma whispered. Her lips were definitely touching his skin. “He was super proud of it. Wanted to make sure I knew it was him and you and Uncle Will. Robin will probably be very disappointed he wasn’t included.”  
  
Killian laughed, but it turned into a bit of a grunt as he snuck his arm around Emma and she mumbled a quiet apology when she landed on his chest. “I’m totally going to brag about it to Locksley.”  
  
“I mean, he’s your kid, and your his hero, so I think you’re getting a bit of an unfair advantage.”

Killian didn’t say anything, wasn’t entirely sure he _could_ over the rather large lump of emotion that had landed in the middle of his throat, and Emma’s fingers had moved to his stomach, dancing over skin and muscle and an appendectomy scar that she always liked to linger on when they had a few moments to breathe.

He wasn’t sure he’d really, truly breathed in the last two weeks.

“I love you,” he whispered, finding his voice and Emma’s fingers froze. “Just...more than anything. You know that, right?”

Emma tilted her head up, lips brushing across his collarbones and the scruff he’d been far too lazy to shave. His hand shifted again, flat against her back like he was trying to keep her there or next to him and it was decidedly possessive and a little absurd because he knew neither one of those things were in danger of changing. There were several different and meaningful things to prove that, least of all the name he could feel on her back and the Stanley Cup ring currently pressing into his sternum, but the world was still out of orbit and not skating felt a bit like not breathing and, well, he was kind of a selfish asshole.

He wanted to win.

Again.

Indefinitely.

God, he hated that word.

“I know,” Emma said, voice a little shaky and eyes a little glossy and he wished he could stop making her cry. They were both going to be late. And something was probably wrong because no one had attacked their door yet.

Killian nodded, clenching his jaw and the question had been lingering on the tip of his tongue since Wednesday, but Emma hadn’t wanted to talk and didn’t have time and he hadn’t _really_ forgotten, but then their kid started drawing Stanley Cup stick figures and he’d missed their other kid weebling and it kind of felt like something short circuited.

Her breath caught when he moved, flipping on her onto her back and moving into the cradle of her hips and her fanned across several different pillows at once.

“And here you were advocating the benefits of going back to sleep,” Emma muttered, and he didn’t have to look at her to _hear_ her smile. It was another absurd thought, but that seemed to be par for whatever course Killian’s life had become, and he nipped against her neck when her fingers found his hair.

She rocked up at the same time he moved down and it was all friction and heat and something that might have been desperation, but that sounded decidedly negative and that wasn’t what this was. At least not entirely.

This was how much everything had been out of control and out of _their_ control, a slim difference that seemed to make all the difference and Killian was more than willing to suffer through an entire PT of Ariel cursing him to a variety of different hells if it meant Emma made _that_ noise as her right leg wrapped around his calf.

The bruise on her thigh had long since disappeared, but his hand drifted toward the spot anyway, some type of feelings-based magnet and how much he wanted her to be ok, and Emma inhaled sharply when his fingers grazed over the jut of her hip.

“It’s fine,” Emma muttered, the words sounding bigger than that and they weren’t talking about some ridiculous mechanical bull anymore.

She probably knew he kept the picture in his wallet.

She definitely knew he kept the picture in his wallet.

“That’s true,” Killian agreed, chuckling when Emma tried to swat at his shoulder. He caught her hand mid-air, brushing his lips over her knuckles and lingering under her ring She pulled her lips behind her teeth, tension almost visibly disappearing and back arching slightly and he was only ever going to be able to think about whatever the hell her leg was doing for, like, the rest of his waking days and possibly several lifetimes after that.

So, really, it didn’t matter where Ariel cursed him because he’d have this to remember and think about and he probably shouldn’t have been thinking about PT while trying to actively undress Emma.

“That wasn’t even clever,” she accused, nails scraping lightly on the back of his neck. Killian hissed, gaze meeting hers and she looked almost triumphant, smile wide and eyes unfairly bright. “And I really don’t think this is part of the post-concussion--”

“--Fine, Swan,” he interrupted.

She stared at him, like she was waiting for a different brand of honest or the actual reason he’d never told her about the headaches and the terror that seemed to rise up his spine and linger in the forefront of his brain every single night, like some kind of twisted hockey-future clockwork, but she either didn’t find it or wasn’t willing to wait any longer and Killian exhaled when she tugged him down and kissed him.

Hard.

And, really, that should have been it. It should have been kissing and getting rid of t-shirts with his name and number on it, but they were both kind of worried about the inevitable four-year-old attack and looming schedules and budgets that were probably changed, again, and the question seemed to fall out of Killian before he’d really decided he was going to ask it.

He’d been thinking it.

And Emma had been avoiding it.

“What exactly was the job?” he asked, leaning back to meet her slightly stunned and clearly frustrated gaze.

“What? Why aren’t you kissing me still?”  
  
“You’ve got to shower.”  
  
“And you made some terrible joke about showering with me before trying to take your shirt off. I thought we’d moved passed the shower thing.”  
  
“My shirt?” Killian asked, and Emma squeezed her eyes closed.

“It is kind of weird that you own t-shirt jerseys, but I was changing last night and you and Matt were watching film and it was the first thing I grabbed. You really couldn’t tell? It’s way bigger than usual.”

“I wasn’t really concerned with the size, honestly,” Killian admitted. “My mind tends to go blank when I realize the name on the back.”  
  
Emma opened her eyes, gaze a bit softer and eyes just as green. “Seems kind of clingy, Cap.”  
  
“Yeah, a little.”  
  
“A very quick agreement.”  
  
“No point in arguing that when I was making veiled allusions to showering together, right?”  
  
“Were they veiled?”  
  
Killian shook his head, nosing at the bit of skin just behind Emma’s ear. “You’re avoiding the question, love.”

“That’s because you’re a really bad interviewer. Maybe you should get Rubes to give you some pointers or something.”  
  
“I don’t think Red would appreciate her interrupting PT like.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” Emma mumbled. “And I’m not avoiding. Technically. I’m trying to deflect and distract with your own name.”  
  
“Yours too.”

He kind of shouted those words too, but it kind of felt necessary and another instinct because he wanted _everything_ with Emma, including hockey and whatever promotion she could get with the league and maybe if he just followed Peggy around with his phone all day, she’d wobble or wobble on camera and he’d be able to see it.

“Ah, that was stupid romantic,” Emma said. Her fingers carded through his hair again, moving across his shoulders and another scar, courtesy of a particularly hard check when he was fifteen and some kid from at the Team USA camp didn’t appreciate how good Killian was at scoring.

“Charming,” he corrected softly. “We’ve been over that so many times, Swan.”  
  
“True. You’re not going to let the job thing drop, are you?”  
  
“I don’t know why you want me to.”  
  
Emma sighed, but she didn’t try to push him off her and he was more than content to linger on top of her while discussing some nebulous future that was only sort of overwhelming. He really wanted to shoot at something.

“It’s not so much that,” Emma started. “It’s just...there’s so much here and so much to do and I really think Mer is sleeping in her office again.”  
  
“I doubt that.”  
  
“Have you met Merida?”  
  
“Strangely enough, I have,” Killian nodded. “And I know she’s not sleeping in her office because she told me that she was going to Gristedes last night to make sure there were bags of dried cranberries in your office for the next week.”  
  
“Did you ask her to do that?”  
  
Killian glanced up at the sound of the question, Emma’s voice shaking slightly and cracking a bit and his mouth dropped when he realized what she was doing to her lower lip. He moved his thumb over it, doing his best to pry it away from her teeth without causing any more damage and it wasn’t that big of a deal.

He’d been telling Merida to make sure Emma ate since he got hurt, and even before then – when playoffs got crazy or she ordered the same salad from Pret the entire time she was pregnant with Matt and that was just part of the deal, slightly different versions of vows he’d promised twice.

And she still looked kind of stunned.

He needed to get back on the ice.

He needed things to be normal again.

“You’re deflecting again, Swan,” he muttered, and not kissing her was a very specific type of challenge. “What did Tink say?”  
  
“C’mon answer, the question. And please don’t talk about an attempted set-up while you’re also being charming. It’s a lot of mixed signals.”

He chuckled against her hair, fingers working back under her shirt and maybe he was the one deflecting. “What was it you said? I wanted to have kids with you, so I think you won, Swan.”  
  
“Ah, it sounds crazy when you say it like that.”  
  
“Maybe a little clingy.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“The job, love,” Killian said, pulling back and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated Emma’s laugh.

“You went all _dad face_ on me. I couldn’t take it seriously.”  
  
“That doesn’t bode well for the future.”

Her expression changed again, a blink and a twitch of her lips and it would have been great if the Earth’s atmosphere stopped abruptly shifting like that. It wasn’t helping his lungs at all. Or his head. Tuesday. That was the last headache he’d had.

“That’s not true at all,” Emma said softly. “And, uh...the job is basically what I’m doing now, just...everywhere.”  
  
“Everywhere?”  
  
“This would probably be easier if you didn’t just repeat everything I was saying.” Killian rolled his eyes, but Emma was smiling again and her fingers were incredibly distracting. “So, the idea is to kind of grow the fanbase I guess. Especially the youth fanbase. Which apparently, rumor has it, I’m great at.”  
  
“But,” Killian prompted.

“How do you know there’s a but?”  
  
“Swan.”  
  
She stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes and it looked a bit like Peggy when she didn’t appreciate that they were were feeding her cut up sweet potatoes again. Emma Swan and Peggy Jones both _hated_ sweet potatoes.

Killian didn’t say that out loud.

“It’s just a lot,” Emma said, probably waving her hands through the air over his back. “There’s a lot of kids and a lot of would-be fans and...I don’t have time to think about that now. I can’t think about that now. Not when everything is so…”

She gritted her teeth, the rest of that sentence practically flashing on a neon sign above her head. It was a pretty good imitation of what her desk phone usually liked.

“Emma,” Killian said, and she groaned loudly, an arm draped over her face and a pillow falling on the floor and they were on borrowed time already.

The door swung open, slamming into the wall hard enough that it probably left a mark and Killian winced when a four-year-old threw himself at his left leg.

“Dad, Dad,” Matt yelled, somehow getting the sound to move directly into Killian’s ear at the same time he dug his feet into his calf. “Are you awake?”

Emma laughed, turning her head into a pillow so it wasn’t incredibly obvious, but Killian was still half on top of her with his hand under her shirt and they were going to have to come up with a better way to avoid ruining their kid’s psyche.

Maybe after they dealt with everything else.

He still needed to get a tux for Casino Night.

“We’re very awake, Mattie,” Emma promised, twisting around to tug him further up the bed and Killian was sure one his kidneys suffered for the effort. “The real question is why are you awake? And what are we going to make for breakfast?”  
  
“I’m hungry!”  
  
“Yeah, I kind of figured that’s what this was about.”

Emma glanced at him, lips ticking up and whatever they’d been treading towards with the job discussion had been appropriately deflected. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to regret that as much as he did.

“What do you say we make breakfast today, Mattie?” Killian asked, sitting back on his heels and it was a precarious position, but that felt like a metaphor and he ignored it completely.

Matt jumped up, just barely missing both of Emma’s knees in the process, and Killian could hear Peggy yelling a few feet away and they were going to have to buy a real bed eventually because that kid really did have an absurd amount of upper-body strength.

“Yeah,” Matt yelled, but it came out a bit like a question and Killian was almost ready when a head collided with his shoulder.  
  
“Mattie, be careful,” Emma chastised. Her hand moved, hovering over Matt’s back and another Jones-branded t-shirt, but Killian shook his head deftly.

Another deflection.

Another slightly selfish move because that seemed destined to end with him half choking to death, but he hadn’t had a headache in _days_ and maybe indefinite could end a little earlier than scheduled.

Probably after they ate their weight in chocolate-chip waffles.

“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian said, pleasantly surprised when he absolutely meant it and none of his joints cracked when he stood up.

Emma stared at him incredulously. “He’s gone full koala on you. I really don’t think that can be healthy. Physical activity was, like, at the absolute bottom of the list.” She groaned when he grinned, eyebrows twisting and there were so many pillows on their bed. He barely heard when she fell back against them. “You know what I meant,” she mumbled.

“I did. But I’m not all that concerned with the list at the moment.” He took a step forward, Matt still clinging to his side, and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. She smiled. “Go shower, love. We’re going to eat way too much chocolate.”

They did, in fact, eat way too much chocolate, Matt’s lips covered and, somehow, his chin had gotten into the mix, perched on the counter next to a bowl of batter with even more chips in it.

“Dad, can Mar have some too?” Matt asked, trying to yank the spoon out of the bowl and Killian wasn’t sure what his plan was, but he assumed it was flinging waffle batter at his sister. It’s probably what he would have done.

“Hey,” he said sharply. Matt’s shoulders slumped. “What did we say about sitting up here?”  
  
“Not to touch.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“And not to swing.”  
  
Killian nodded, eyeing Matt’s swinging feet intently. They sounded incredibly loud when they collided with the front of the cabinet and he thought he was being very impressive when he snuck his hand into the bowl, grabbing a few chocolate chips that hadn’t mixed in yet.

“You’re not nearly as sneaky as you think you are,” Killian muttered, and Matt widened his eyes in a way that was equal parts familiar and entirely uncharted territory. And it probably counted as physical activity, but his kid was laughing and smiling and happy and it didn’t really take much to sling Matt over his shoulder, socked feet bumping against his chest and fingers gripping at the back of the shirt he’d finally put on.

He hoped they didn’t burn the waffles.

Matt kept laughing and Killian, somehow, managed to get Peggy to eat a handful of bananas, some of which inexplicably ended up on his elbow, but it was good and healthy and--  
  
“Dad,” Matt asked, moving to hang off Killian’s back and he’d gotten surprisingly good at that in the last few months. Maybe all their kids were just ridiculously strong.

“Yeah, kid.”  
  
“Did you like your picture?”

He wished he didn’t have banana on his elbow for this conversation.

“Of course,” Killian said, hoping his voice stayed even and confident and Matt wasn’t done. It was, he assumed, because they’d lost last night and Matt probably had the Rangers practice schedule memorized at that point and the prospect of hanging out with Leo Nolan that afternoon wasn’t nearly as fun as taking slap shots on Garden ice with Roland.

“Do you...do you think you’ll win?”

Killian had to take a deep breath before he answered, closing his eyes and trying to remember all the _good things_ and the confidence he’d been flushed with that morning.

No headache since Tuesday. Good heart rate on the treadmill. Minimal glares from both Ariel and Regina in the last week.  

Husinger’s pass had been ridiculous.

“Dad,” Matt whined, tightening his hold.

Killian flinched when someone knocked on the door, biting his tongue in the process and he never actually answered Matt’s question, peering through the peephole to find it covered with what looked like a handmade sign.

He knew who it was when she kicked at the door.

“Oh my God,” Killian muttered. “Mattie, don’t try and climb over me when I open this door, ok?”

It was a pointless request – Matt was four and had no control over his limbs _ever_ and he probably should have been more concerned about Anna anyway because she practically leapt at Killian as soon as there wasn’t a door in between them.

Killian groaned when her body collided with his, arms around his middle and more hair in his face. He stumbled backwards, wincing when Matt likely did permanent damage to his right eardrum.

The shower turned off down the hallway.

“KJ, is that banana on your elbow?” Anna asked.

“Did you bring a sign?” he countered. “This is not JFK. A sign seems unnecessary.”

“Ok, this is super cute and you know it. So don’t try and tell me that you’re not charmed. I can see it in your face and your banana elbow.” Killian rolled his eyes, but Anna was, well, Anna and she was already talking to Matt. “My guy,” she grinned, trying and failing to pry him away from Killian’s back and that was only because _she_ didn’t have the kind of upper body strength either of the Jones kids seemed to possess. “You trying to choke your dad?”

“Anna, Anna, Anna,” Matt chanted. She beamed at Killian. And let go of him so she could crouch to Matt’s level and hug him tightly, peppering his head with kisses until he found that decidedly unpleasant.

“What are you doing here, Banana?”  
  
She laughed, tilting her head up to him and he was, somehow, holding her sign. “It’s almost like you planned the food shenanigans to match up with even more absurd nicknames.”  
  
“Several habits make it a difficult habit to break.”  
  
“That’s kind of my excuse too, honestly.”  
  
“What?”

“Anna?"

Emma was standing on the edge of the kitchen, hair still in a towel and bare feet and it took less than a full second for even more hugging and questions and Zelena’s meeting schedule was going to be completely pointless after this.

Killian looked at the sign in his hand, biting back a smile and a laugh when he processed the words: **HERE TO FIX YOUR LIFE, KJ.**

They didn’t burn all the waffles, cleaning Matt’s face and Anna kept Peggy on her knee the entire time they ate, updates on several different mountains and a spread in Condé Nast, because that was the kind of person she was and she hadn’t been to New York in months.

She’d come to New York to fix his life.

The sign wouldn’t have lied.

Anna wouldn’t have lied.

“Alright,” Emma said, nearly an hour and two slightly dramatic baths for both kids later. “Let’s move out, team.”  
  
“Where are you going?” Anna asked, and Killian knew he didn’t imagine the disappointment in her voice. He smiled.

“I’ve got forty-two Casino Night meetings and I’m sure Aurora has opinions about Phillip’s ceremony she hasn’t actually voiced yet and--”  
  
“--God, there’s more?”

Emma made a face. “So I’m going to bring Mattie and Pegs to Reese’s and David’s because he’s got a day off for the first time in forever and--”  
  
“--Why can’t KJ and I watch ‘em?”  
  
“I’ve got PT in an hour, Banana,” Killian explained, but Emma’s shoulders sagged a bit. “So you better explain yourself pretty quickly or Red will throw a treadmill at you too.”  
  
“Yeah, I’d like to see her try.”

“Wily.”

“Don’t be a jerk, KJ.”  
  
He flashed her a grin, turning back to Emma when she grabbed her keys and two different phones, one of them already lighting up in her hand. “Hot chocolate later?” she asked, a note of _something_ in her voice that didn’t sound like confidence and he was nodding before she closed her mouth.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Swan.”  
  
“Good,” she said, kissing him quick and leaning towards him so he could make a face at Peggy and Anna might have _awed_ when he worked a rather loud _da_ out of her. “See you later, Anna.”  
  
Anna hummed, waving and settling herself into the corner of the couch. She dug her heels into Killian's thighs. And, to her credit, waited for the door to close before she started talking.

“I brought chocolate,” Anna said, and that might have been the last thing he expected her to say. She smiled when Killian blinked. “Yeah, not what you were thinking, right? Teach you to assume you know my conversational tendencies. I figured it was about time I repaid the favor or something.”  
  
“It wasn’t a favor Banana. It was a very vocal demand of yours for fifteen years.”  
  
“Not that long.”  
  
“You’re right, longer.”

“Don’t be like that. I made you a sign.”

“A rather opinionated sign.”  
  
“Liam yelled at you over the phone!"

“Not really,” Killian argued. “He advocated for making out and dates and getting away from practice.”  
  
“You follow through on any of that?”  
  
“At least the first two.” Anna clicked her tongue, another heel press and expressive look and he kind of expected her phone to ring earlier, honestly. “Is this why you came here?” Killian asked, swatting at her leg when her feet started masquerading as fifty-pound weights. “God, move your legs, Banana. I am on IR.”

“Because of your actual brain, KJ,” she countered. Elsa sighed on the phone screen.

“Are we fighting already? That was not part of the plan.”

“The plan was unnecessary,” Killian growled. “I’m serious about your feet, Banana. Did you come here just for this? That’s worse than the sign.”  
  
“The sign was nice!”  
  
“The sign was kind of judgmental. And kind of backed you into a corner. Here to fix my life?”  
  
“Aw, Anna,” Elsa groaned. Anna blushed. “That’s not what we agreed on KJ. Although it’s nice to see visual proof that you’re alive. How’s your head?”  
  
“No headaches in awhile,” Killian said, and Anna was never going to move her feet. Like, ever again. “So as good as can be expected.”  
  
“You snuck on the ice yet?”  
  
“Who do you think I am, El?”  
  
“I know exactly who you are, KJ,” Elsa answered evenly. She was in her office. There was snow on the mountains behind her. “Which is why I’m asking that question.”  
  
“Rude,”  
  
“Honest,” Anna corrected. “And I’m not totally here because of you. It’s been a while since I’d seen Kris and we’ve been talking about…”

Killian snapped his head around so quickly, he was sure he’d need PT for that too and Anna’s cheeks were red enough that it was difficult to differentiate between her face and her hair. “Talking about?”

“Not that.”  
  
“You haven’t actually said anything, Banana.”  
  
She groaned, slumping in the couch and he should have made her get the chocolate first. He couldn’t eat more chocolate. “I’ve just been thinking about home, and missing home and Mattie’s a cute kid and,” she rolled her eyes, “shut up, KJ.”  
  
“I didn’t say anything.”

“Nah, you’re really bad at lying KJ,” Elsa muttered, and he jerked back when Anna thrust the phone in his face. “And Anna’s even more sentimental than you are and totally homesick. It just helps that you’re part of home so now we can tag-team you.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Anna groaned.

Elsa shrugged. “You weren’t supposed to make a sign.”

Killian chuckled, some of his frustration dissipating and it might have been because of the copious amount of chocolate he’d eaten that morning, but he was fairly certain it was also because Elsa and Anna Vankald resolutely refused to let him be anything except happy.

“You guys know you’re kind of late to the intervention party, right?” Killian asked. “I really haven’t gotten on the ice.”

“That’s actually pretty impressive,” Elsa said, ignoring whatever he did with his face at that. “But, uh...not entirely, no.”  
  
Killian tilted his head, eyes flitting from the phone to Anna and her pursed lips and Elsa looked nervous. “What’s this actually about?”  
  
“The plan kind of evolved in the last few hours,” Anna muttered. “Although there really is an offer to watch your painfully cute kids because Emma sounds super stressed out in the group text and you’re not great at dealing and--”  
  
“--How can she sound stressed out in a text?”  
  
“It’s a feeling, KJ.”  
  
“A feeling?”  
  
“Killian,” Elsa snapped, and he nearly jumped off the couch. Anna hissed. “This really isn’t about the semantics of the text messages.”

“Although you should really be aware of how stressed out Emma is,” Anna mumbled.

“I know, Banana,” Killian said. The frustration was back. It kind of felt like fury.

And he didn’t hear Elsa at first.

There was probably a scientific reason for that.

Complete and utter denial and the desperate desire to deflect this entire conversation.

Probably.

“I said, have you seen _The Post_ today?” Elsa asked softly. Killian shook his head. “You, uh, you might want to look at it.”

It took a moment to find it – searching and scrolling and his phone had been off, his quiet _fuck_ when he landed on the Q&A sounding impossibly loud in the now-silent apartment.

He’d seen the feature before, a Saturday spread two pages from the back with a color headshot for the columnist and splashy photos for the subject and he’d answered those questions more than once in the last decade and a half.

It was the headline, really, that got the laugh out of him, slightly manic and a little surprised and he knew Elsa tried to glance at Anna through the phone.

**Harping on Husinger: How the Rangers call-up is making this his team**

“His team?” Killian asked. He didn’t take his eyes away from his phone, grip tightening and the words felt like acid working out of him. He was glad he didn’t melt. That’d probably ruin the couch. It’d at least scandalize Anna.

“So he says,” Elsa muttered. “Several times.”  
  
“He says this shit more than once?”

She made a noise, an agreement and a slight whimper and Killian’s lungs had never collapsed before, but this kind of felt like that. Or the world falling into a black hole.

Anna sniffled.

“He’s a dick, KJ,” she shrugged. “Just...forget the goals and that pass last night. He’s...trying to make it sound like you know you won’t come back and it’s his spot and his playoff run and..”

She didn’t finish. Killian wished she finished, but his eyes were scanning sentences and proclamations and promises, swallowing when they landed on _my line’s been great, it’s been so easy to settle into the scheme and Arthur’s an incredible coach, and I can only hope I keep finding the back of the net. This is the moment I’ve been waiting my whole career for, I don’t intend to backtrack._

“This is bullshit,” Killian said, voice low and he kept shaking his head like that would get rid of the ringing in his ears. “It’s not his team.”  
  
“We know, KJ,” Elsa promised. “He’s just trying to get his five minutes.”  
  
“Or his minutes until the playoffs.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s as soon as I can get back. Maybe.”  
  
“Maybe?”  
  
“That’s what they told me, El,” he growled. She widened her eyes. “Sorry, sorry, I just...how did you find this? Were you looking for headlines? And why didn’t Lucas tell me?”  
  
“I don’t think she knew Husinger was going to say all that. And you’re kind of terrifying, KJ.”  
  
“And Belle texted me,” Anna added. “That’s why the plan changed. I think she was trying to talk Scarlet out of killing this guy at practice.”

There wasn’t much thought after that.

It was just anger and red on the edge of his vision and Killian stuffed his phone in his pocket, mumbling _I’ll be back later_ when both Anna and Elsa questioned where he was going.

He left his wallet in the bedroom.

“Hey, uh, you see that story this morning, Cap?” the driver asked, and Killian grunted or nodded and neither one of them said anything else the entire drive down Columbus Ave.

He didn’t say anything to the security guard either, just tugged up the collar of his jacket and kept walking, eyes on his shoes and mind nowhere near rational. He could hear pucks hitting the boards already.

The tension was obvious, even through Killian’s own cloud of anger and fury and several other words that were equally irrational. Will was standing on the far edge of the ice, helmet off and stick clutched in his hand tight enough that Killian would have bet him several different things his knuckles were white under his gloves.

Robin was taking faceoffs, Husinger just outside the circle and neither of them looked particularly pleased to be sharing the same few feet of space. Phillip kept glaring at them both.

Arthur blew his whistle.

“Again, Locksley,” he growled. “And try not to fuck it up this time. You looked like shit last night.”  
  
“He won more than half Arthur,” Will pointed out. Another whistle blow.

“I’m not paying him to win half. I’m paying him to win seventy-five percent. At least.”  
  
“You’re not really paying him at all, you know, unless you got a promotion none of us heard about.”

Arthur let go of his whistle, the stupid bit of plastic landing on his chest with a soft thump and Husinger chuckled. And, for half a second, Killian was worried the whole goddamn team was going to kill him.

Phillip’s eyes narrowed and Will dropped his stick, Robin standing up to his full height and rolling his shoulders – the same exact way Roland did when he didn’t like a call on the ice.

Arthur skated across the circle.

“You want to try that again, Husinger?” Arthur muttered. He laughed. Again.

Killian swallowed. And swung his legs over the boards.

He was always better on ice than he was anywhere else, more confident and more controlled, and, admittedly, more talented, but in the moment, he was simply thankful he kept his balance, a distinct lack of traction that may have been due to the excessive beating of his heart.

“Cap,” Will gasped. “What the hell. Get off the ice?”  
  
Killian shook his head, certain he _would_ fall over if he stopped moving and Husinger stopped laughing when he saw him.

He hadn’t actually seen him in person yet.

He wasn’t that big, no taller than Killian and a little stockier, leaning on his stick with half a smile on his face and a confident attitude that was treading dangerously close to complete and utter dick. He clicked his tongue when Killian was a few inches away, jaw tight and eyes tracing across his street clothes and sneakers.

“Looks like you’re still not quite ready to suit up, Jones,” Husinger grinned.

Will nearly jumped forward.

Killian shook his head, crossing his arms lightly and he still couldn't really come up with any coherent thoughts. “What the hell is your problem?” he asked, ignoring both Robin and Phillip when they mumbled _Cap_ under their breath.

Arthur looked torn between blowing his whistle and making them all skate blue lines.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do,” Killian muttered. “Or you wouldn’t look that nervous.”  
  
Husinger blinked, smile wavering for half a moment before he schooled his features and pursed his lips. He shook his gloves off. “I’ve never met you before, man,” Husinger continued. “All I know is the legend.”

“There’s no legend.”  
  
“Ah, sure there is or you wouldn’t be here to defend it. You worried about your squad? Is that what it is?”  
  
“It’s not your team.”

“Not yet. You see that pass last night? Rocket right across the ice. That’s what they were saying on all the talk shows this morning.”  
  
“A spot on SportsCenter’s not going to get you a Cup.”  
  
“And yet you’ll still be on the bench no matter I do, won’t you?” Husinger asked. Killian fisted his hands at his side, biting on the inside of his lip and he could hear Will breathing behind him. “It’s a talkative team. Not really like that in Hartford, but they do talk about you Hartford and you’re out of commission for awhile.”  
  
“Seriously, what is your problem, man?” Phillip balked, huffing when Robin pushed his hand into his jersey.

Husinger shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care about Jones. I don’t care about his fucking brain or his cognitive reasoning or the kids everyone keeps talking about. This is a a hockey team. And it’s supposed to win. I’m here to win. I don’t care about anything else.”  
  
“That’s not how this works,” Killian muttered, voice barely audible and Arthur stared at him. “You can’t win if you’re just here for you.”

“Did you miss the part where I don’t care?”  
  
“Nah, I heard you. Strangely enough the concussion didn’t affect my hearing.”

Will tried to turn his laugh into a cough, but he was grinning when Killian glanced at him and he’d never picked up his stick. “That was funny, Cap,” he said. “You hear that Locksley? Cap’s making jokes about concussions.”  
  
“Don’t tell Emma,” Robin yelled.

Killian rolled his eyes, but Husinger was still standing there and, presumably, still a piece of garbage, absolute dick looking for a moment in the spotlight and they all really should have expected it.

It had already been in print.

“This is my spot now, Jones,” Husinger said, shrugging like it was obvious and Arthur put the whistle back in between his teeth. “And I’m not going anywhere. You can come back and it won’t matter. You’re gone. Might as well get used to it now. Make it easier to explain to your kids next season.”

It wasn’t really red.

It was kind of like...magenta. Burning and searing and so _goddamn hot_ Killian had to glance down at his hands to make sure they hadn’t exploded into flames.

And Killian barely heard Will, a quiet “ah, fuck that guy,” in the background when he walked forward, lifted his hand and punched.

A right hook, straight to the jaw.

Everything went to shit after that.

Killian landed another two punches before Husinger reacted, a fist in his stomach and the side of his cheek and he swore he heard something crack, the pain rushing straight through him. He was never entirely sure how he kept his balance, slipping and sliding and gripping the front of Husinger’s jersey like a goddamn anchor.

He didn’t stop.

He felt an arm around him, trying to pull him away and he didn’t know if it was Will or Robin, didn’t particularly care either way, particularly when another blow landed on the side of his ribs. That made it more difficult to breathe.

And keep fighting.

Arthur blew his whistle.

Phillip cursed when Husinger elbowed him, trying to fight him off as he worked to stay on his skates and there was blood dripping into Killian’s mouth.

He could feel the bruise blooming under his eye, and it was a bit like being thrown into ice-cold water. His legs shook under him, suddenly incapable of supporting his weight and Will mumbled something he couldn’t understand.

Arthur was shouting, yelling instructions and something that sounded a bit like _get this asshole the fuck off my ice_ and Killian exhaled, desperate to blink away the spots in front of his eyes.

Will kept mumbling ambulance.  

“No, no, no,” Killian argued, shaking his head. That was a mistake. Weebles wobble and they _absolutely_ fall down.

“Cap.”  
  
“No, no, just...just go find Emma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, before you guys are like, LAURA THIS WOULD NEVER HAPPEN. It has! Several times! Once with the [Rangers](https://www.sny.tv/rangers/news/brendan-smiths-season-is-over-after-breaking-his-hand/269340268) last year (and those guys played together this season!) and once with the [Blues](http://www.startribune.com/video-the-st-louis-blues-are-brawling-in-practice/502377901/) this year. 
> 
>  
> 
> Come hang out on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) but don't yell too loudly.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma was going to scream.

They’d been over the same point on the same goddamn schedule six times already and she was almost surprised that Aurora had printed out the schedule. Almost. Not really. She’d kind of come up with a schedule in her head too, so, really this was more efficient and a bit more official, but Emma could _not_ talk about this stupid banner again.

She was going to bite her tongue in half.

And Zelena totally knew.

She kept glancing at Emma, eyes wide with several different emotions that all seemed based in something akin to pity. Her heel had not stopped tapping since she’d walked into Emma’s office forty-five minutes before and the schedule may have been official and possibly made with an actual Microsoft Word template, but this was the least productive meeting in the history of the entire world.

“I’m only saying,” Aurora continued, oblivious to the state of Emma’s tongue and Zelena’s not-quite-quiet sigh. “The people need to be aware who they’re supporting.

“They know, Aurora,” Emma muttered. She couldn’t even get much emotion in her voice, which was equal parts annoying and probably for the best. She didn’t have time to yell at Aurora.

She had a hot chocolate date later.

And maybe they could actually get Anna to watch Matt and Peggy and the physical activity that, really, wasn’t supposed to happen could keep happening and they could get a few more hours of sleep. She was fairly certain there was still ice cream in the freezer.

“That’s not entirely true,” Aurora argued. “They think they’re just there to meet famous faces and buy overpriced merch and--”  
  
“--That overpriced merch is going to your charity,” Emma seethed. Zelena stopped tapping her heel.

“Alright,” she snapped. “This is getting us nowhere. There’s a theme, Aurora, you can’t just hang a banner and expect that to fit the theme. Emma, the merch is overpriced. That’s your job. To overprice the merch. And make sure people still buy it.”  
  
“I am doing that.”   
  
“I’m not disagreeing with that.”   
  
“Then I don’t know why we’re here again,” Emma said, voice rising of its own accord and this new chair Merida had found her was awful. She should have moved the paperwork out of her real chair. Aurora was sitting on a folding chair.

“Because it’s a major event for us,” Zelena responded evenly. There was no mistaking the calm in her voice though – an almost _too_ obvious threat and reminder that _she_ was in charge and it might be Emma’s department and her event, but the money was Zelena’s and Aurora still wanted to hang the goddamn banner.

“I know that,” Emma mumbled. She pursed her lips, tongue tracing over the front of her teeth and she didn’t have to look up to know Zelena’s eyebrows jump. “I do,” she said. “But people are almost painfully aware of who they’re supporting with this event. Most of the people at this event have been going for decades.”

Emma glanced up, staring at Aurora like she was challenging her to argue. She didn’t say anything.

That felt better than the ice cream she really hoped was still in the freezer.

“We don’t have to hang the banner,” Aurora whispered after a few more moments of charged silence and Zelena’s exhale was almost _too_ loud. “It doesn’t really go with the theme anyway.”

“Color scheme is all off,” Emma mumbled.

Aurora didn’t smile, but it was almost close – a slight twitch of her lips that made her look relatively human and slightly understanding and Emma hadn’t been holding her breath, but her lungs appreciated when she let go of some of the oxygen she’d been hoarding.

“As long as Sam and Joe make sure to mention where the money is going during the auction,” Aurora added.

Emma needed that oxygen back so she could groan. “Oh my God, Aurora. They know! They’ve been doing this for _years_. People have been coming for _years_. No one is unaware! We donate to one charity. It’s very easy to keep track of!”   
  
“Emma,” Zelena chided, but she shook her head deftly, hitting her cheeks with her hair in the process.

“There is no confusion here. There is a schedule and a plan and you wrote it out yourself! You want me to do it too? Would that make it easier for you?”

Aurora paled, lips pulled behind her teeth as her fingers fiddled with the rings on her left hand. Emma pressed her palms flat against her desk, standing up until she was practically looming over both of them and her hair was everywhere.

She should get a haircut before Casino Night.

She should get a goddamn dress for Casino Night.

“Oh shit,” she groaned, squeezing her eyes closed and rolling her head and she barely heard Zelena’s _what_ over the realization landing in the forefront of her mind.

“Is this about the plan for the silent auction?” Aurora asked. “Because I was thinking we could put some logos--”  
  
“--Oh my God, Aurora, enough,” Zelena growled.

Emma shook her head, tasting blood from her tongue and she was going to order three hot chocolates at once. She was going to crash PT. And keep ignoring her phone.

“I forgot about the Vankalds,” she muttered. Aurora blinked. “God damn...fucking hell. I’ve been listening to this shit about banners and logos and it’s the same as it is every year, but it’s not really is it? It’s…”

She exhaled sharply, pulling in air through her nose to try and maintain consciousness and her phone was probably going to explode at some point.

Aurora looked a little stunned.

Zelena leaned towards Emma, resting her hand a few inches away from the palms she still had splayed across her desk. “You should probably answer your phone,” she said, drawing a ridiculous noise out of Emma. It sounded insane. She sounded insane. She’d forgotten to get the Vankalds tickets to Casino Night.

Emma made another noise, something she hoped was bit closer to a vaguely professional laugh than the strangled sound she knew it was.

She didn’t look at the name on the screen before she answered.

“Emma?”

She pulled the phone away from the ear, brows furrowed and she should have expected it. If one Vankald sister was going to arrive in person, it only made sense the other one was going to call Emma.

They were tag-teaming.

They had a tendency to do that.

“Hey, El,” Emma said, and she wished Zelena’s heel would stop being so goddamn judgmental. They still had so much left on the printed out schedule. They hadn’t even gotten to Phillip’s memorial yet.

God, that was not the right word at all.

Four hot chocolates.

At least.

“Everything ok?” Emma asked slowly. She was still standing up, knees locked in place and eyes staring at anything except Aurora’s face and the schedule they were all ignoring and Emma was halfway to telling both her and Zelena to just go talk to Merida about points three through twelve.

There were twelve points on the schedule.

Elsa still wasn’t answering.

“El,” Emma prompted. “Did you...not mean to call me? You know you’re sister is sitting in my apartment right now.”  
  
“Yeah, I knew that,” Elsa said, voice scratchy and sounding much farther away than Colorado. Emma sat back down – or, at least, tried. She mostly just flopped onto the edge of her desk and it kind of felt like she’d checked herself into the imitation wood.

“And…”  
  
“And they didn’t even get to the fancy chocolate.”   
  
“I don’t know what that means.”   
  
“When we were kids, Anna was obsessed with this chocolate place off the Bowery and she used to make KJ go get it for her. And then when we weren’t kids anymore, she’d still demand it before she’d come to visit and she’d always stay with him when she was in New York and he wasn’t answering any of our phone calls, and you know he does kind of sometimes play favorites with me, but that’s just because I’m really good at reading his mind and--”   
  
“--El, where are you going with this?”   
  
“Anna bought him chocolate this time,” Elsa said, like that made any sense at all. Emma wondered if she could sprain her eyebrows.

It certainly felt that way.

She’d ask Ariel when she, inevitably, crashed PT.

“Maybe we’ll take a break for a few minutes, huh?” Zelena asked, and Emma got the distinct impression she _knew_ something. She had no idea what. Maybe they were all talking about secret, metaphorical chocolate.

Emma nodded dumbly, pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder and trying to stay balanced on her desk. She waited until she couldn’t hear the echoes of Zelena’s heels anymore to start talking.

“Is this really about actual chocolate?” Emma asked, and Elsa clicked her tongue. “Is that a no?”

“I mean Anna definitely bought the chocolate. She called me while she was buying it.”  
  
“Ok..”   
  
“And it’s really good, honestly. Belgian or something and the nougat is just absurd.”   
  
“I really don’t have time to talk about absurd nougat right now, El,” Emma muttered. In some alternate reality where things were actually normal and Aurora didn’t use Microsoft Word templates, Emma was sure she would have laughed at the phrase _absurd nougat,_ but that didn’t seem to be the world they were living in and she knew Killian kept that picture in his wallet.

She’d seen the edge of the paper sticking out when he’d tossed it on the dresser the night before.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you don’t,” Elsa said. “That’s part of the reason I’m calling. And part of the reason Anna kind of...attacked your apartment.”  
  
“It wasn’t really an attack. And if she was serious about watching Mattie and Pegs, I’ll probably buy her chocolate.”   
  
“Oh that was totally genuine.”   
  
“See, so then, I’m willing to be attacked,” Emma promised, doing her best to sound bright and happy and the English language had lost most of its meaning in the last two weeks.

Elsa hummed, and that was almost more confusing than anything else. Elsa Vankald-Jones was never quite this ineloquent.

Emma wasn’t sure if that was a word.

She’d ask Mary Margaret when she picked up Matt and Peggy.

She needed a list for her list. She needed to tell Merida to order more post-it notes.

“Ok, well, if this was just about chocolate and your mind-reading abilities,” Emma started, “then I’m going to go because we’ve somehow got another Casino Night crisis and I totally forgot to get your parents tickets.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“I forgot to get your parents tickets to Casino Night.”   
  
“When is Casino Night?”   
  
“A week from tonight?”   
  
“No, shit.”   
  
Emma blinked. “I wouldn't really joke about that.”

“I know, I know, I know,” Elsa stammered, the ghost of a laugh in her voice and it sounded just as crazy as whatever sound Emma had made a few minutes before. “And Mom and Dad won’t mind. Let them watch your kids instead. They’d rather be doing that.”  
  
“That’s actually a good idea. I’ll tell Killian. I know he doesn’t really want to go, but it’s kind of--”

“--Have you talked to KJ?”

Emma wasn’t sure why it felt like her heart paused – as if someone with a comically large remote hit a button on her life and everything just froze for a second, but Elsa’s voice cracked on a vaguely ancient nickname and she needed a second to process that before letting her jaw drop open.

“I live with him,” Emma said slowly, but she could _hear_ Elsa shaking her head against the phone. “Was that a disagreement to our living arrangements?”   
  
“No, no, that was...God, I should have lead with this, but I didn’t think he’d be an idiot.”

Emma wished the comically large, hopefully metaphorical remote would do something again.

Her foot slid across the floor when she moved her legs, tilting her head and willing her lungs to keep functioning and she knew. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did and it probably had to do with her own mind-reading powers and Ruby had kind of already told her.

“Where did it run?” Emma asked, and Elsa let out a gasp that didn’t sound entirely surprised.

“That was actually really impressive.”  
  
“He’s gotten a point in every game. There had to be something eventually. I sent out some garbage e-mail blast to season tickets about how excited we were to have him called up.”

“KJ would have understood that.”  
  
“But not a story, right?”   
  
Elsa didn’t answer, just hummed again and Emma nearly ripped the goddamn mouse out of the computer trying to find it. That was pointless – she had sixteen text messages from David. One of them was the link.

Text message seven.

**Em, I know I’m not supposed to be scouring the subReddit, but I swear, someone told me about it first and I had to check.**

**This guy is an asshole.**

**Seriously. Tell Arthur to trade him.**

**I’ll tell Arthur to trade him.**

**That’s not Arthur’s job.**

**I’m going to text Rubes and make sure she shuts this guy down. These quotes are garbage. It’s not his team.**

**Harping on Husinger: How the Rangers call-up is making this his team (** **_link)_ **

Emma pressed on her phone screen with a shaky hand, thumb landing like a boulder and she could hear Elsa’s almost-stable breathing on speaker phone. She wondered if Anna was still in their apartment.

And she knew Killian wasn’t at PT.

That didn’t bode well for the hot chocolate date.

In the minutes and hours and days after the story got published, several different people would ask Emma what she thought when she read it. If she was angry or furious or several other words that meant exactly the same thing, and she wasn’t really any of them.

She was...nothing.

She didn’t feel a single, goddamn thing. It was like every ounce of overly emotional emotions that had been churning in her gut and the very center of her being since Robin left his skates in a stairwell in Nashville suddenly disappeared and Emma was empty.

Devoid.

That was a good word.

She’d have to tell Mary Margaret that one too.

She wished she felt something. She wished she’d thrown her phone or cursed Husinger to a variety of different hells and horrible trade deadline deals, but she knew both of those things were impossible and that pass had been good the night before.

Even if they lost.

They’d lost.

The metaphor was stupid.

“Emma?” Elsa asked softly, and Emma just blinked. She kept moving her tongue, the cut on the side brushing over the back of her teeth every time she did it, but she’d fallen into some kind of twisted rhythm and she wasn’t sure what would happen if she stopped.

Probably fall off the edge of he desk.

Or the chasm she suddenly felt like she was perched on.

She read the whole story. Twice. But her eyes kept drifting back to one question and one answer and the words seemed to imprint themselves on the back of her eyelids, there even after Emma blinked and she could hear someone walking down the hallway.

She was still, technically, in a meeting.

_I’d never want someone to get hurt. But I do have to admit that I’m thankful for it. The Rangers are...that kind of team is the stuff kids in the AHL dream of, y’know? Talent across the board and no Cup in the last few years, but playoffs pretty regularly and I always knew I was kind of Jones’ heir apparent. It’s a lot of pressure. Or it could be. I’m not letting it. This is my chance and I’m taking it with both hands. It sucks he got hurt, but now I’m here and I don’t want to waste a second. The world’s going to see what I can do._

“How did you know?” Emma asked, and Elsa made a noise that was obvious confusion. “The story. How did you know it ran?”  
  
“Oh. Belle told Anna. And, uh…”

“You told Killian?”  
  
Elsa must have nodded, a muffled sound against the phone and her chair squeaked when she sat down. “That’s why I asked if you saw him. He kind of, God, freaked is a garbage word. It’s unbelievable I can’t come up with a better word in this situation.”   
  
“I won’t hold it against you.”   
  
“Thanks,” Elsa mumbled, another almost laugh lingering around the words. “KJ is...always has been, I mean...shit, this is ridiculous. I am…” She sniffled, and Emma wasn’t crying. She wasn’t sure she could anymore. “KJ thought he ruined Liam’s life. He thought he robbed him of hockey and this game and I know that’s, at least, part of the reason he didn’t say anything about that hit in Jersey, but I think he was almost coming to terms with dealing with it and then--”   
  
“--Then this ran,” Emma finished.

“Yeah. And this asshole claims the team is his and KJ getting hurt was his chance and it’s bullshit. It’s...that’s not his team.”  
  
“No, it’s not.”

Emma stood up, knees still only marginally functional and Will hadn’t even taken his skates off. He exhaled heavily when he stopped in the open doorway, Zelena and Aurora lingering behind him with matching looks of worry on their face and Emma swallowed.

She knew.

Again.

“Did something stupid, huh?” Emma asked, and she almost smiled when Will laughed.

“Incredibly.”

“Did he even go to PT?”  
  
“I don't think so. But A’s probably down there now. Victor too.”   
  
“Victor?”   
  
Will nodded slowly, glancing over his shoulder at Zelena like he was about to snitch or something equally absurd. Elsa’s breathing wasn’t   
quite as even anymore. “Yeah,” he said softly. “There was a lot of blood.”

Emma dropped her phone. “What?”

“He should leave fighting to the pros,” Will muttered, and that was not the answer Emma wanted. She could barely hear Elsa yelling from Colorado. It was mostly cursing. It might have been Norwegian. “He looks like an ass when he does shit like this.”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about, Scarlet?”   
  
“That story was shit, you know that, right?”   
  
“Obviously,” Emma hissed. She was already moving, pushing past an unsteady Will and Aurora was breathing through her mouth, eyes wide like she was trying to get information from the suddenly heavy air molecules around them.

“Em, Em, wait,” Will said, stumbling towards her and his fingers were warm when they wrapped around her wrist. Just above her laces. God, the metaphors.

“If there’s blood and he did something stupid then I need to figure out what it is. And deal with it. Like we have dealt with everything. For the last two weeks and the last six years and--”  
  
“--Emma, breathe.”   
  
“Don’t tell me to breathe, Scarlet, I know how to do that.”   
  
He lifted his eyebrows, a silent reprimand she did _not_ appreciate from a guy she _absolutely_ knew wanted to punch Husinger too. “He wasn’t thinking,” Will reasoned. “This guy’s trying to take his roster.”   
  
“He can’t do that!”   
  
“He might.”   
  
Emma blinked. Her throat felt impossibly dry. And small. And her tongue was suddenly enormous. Aurora gasped. “What does that mean?” Emma demanded. “Scarlet, what the hell does that mean?”   
  
“There’s just a lot factors, right?”   
  
“Be more fucking specific!”   
  
Her phone was still on the ground. She didn’t try to get it. She didn’t move. She kept glaring at Will and he kept staring at his skates and he caught her hand before she could actually punch him in the shoulder.

“I can’t, Em,” Will whispered. “That’s the problem. And this kid is good. He’s a dick, but he’s got one of the quickest sticks I’ve seen in years. He can play. Even if Cap gets healthy again, front office might not want to let this kid go.”  
  
“If?”

Will sighed. “When. You know what I meant.”  
  
“Sure.”   
  
“Emma.”   
  
“Is he still on the ice?’ she asked, ignoring everything else and it was a hell of a lot easier to feel absolutely nothing. She should have tried that from the start.

“He asked me to find you.”  
  
“He should have been at PT. He shouldn’t have been at practice. Ever. This whole time.”   
  
“Cap can’t do that. You know that.”

She did.

Emma knew all of it and, almost, understood all of it because this stupid game with ridiculously sharp blades and a tiny, little puck and a player who deserved to _win again,_ had always been absolutely everything to both of them.

This was their home.

The goddamn ice.

“You coming?” Emma asked brusquely, already halfway down the hallway and Will looked ridiculous when he nodded. Neither Zelena nor Aurora mentioned the meeting.

Ariel was, in fact, on the ice, a scowl on her face that would probably do permanent damage to the skin around her eyes. Emma wondered how she could see anything when they were so narrowed, but it didn’t appear to be hindering her.

She flitted around Killian, mumbling several choice words and frustrations regarding his life and decisions and she let out a low whistle when she heard Emma step onto the bench.

“He’s a goddamn idiot,” Ariel announced, Killian’s spine going straight when he realized Emma was behind him. She didn’t answer. “And,” Ariel continued. “I’d be more than happy to help throw him in front of a zamboni or something.”  
  
“That’s kind of excessive, Red,” Killian mumbled, but she glared at him again. He didn’t say anything else.

And Emma didn’t move. She didn’t take another step or walk around the edge of the bench, Will lingering just on the edge of her vision like some kind of sarcastic, opinionated guardian angel ready and willing to defend her honor at a moment’s notice.

It was actually almost kind of nice.

Or it would have been if she could feel anything.

Every inch of her felt numb, a distinct refusal to acknowledge _anything_ or give into the absolute and complete fear lingering in the back of her brain because this could be it and it could be over and...no.

Nothing.

“Yeah, well, beating up some guy in the middle of practice is also pretty excessive,” Ariel reasoned, and Killian’s shoulders, somehow, got tighter.

“You beat him up?” Emma asked sharply.

Killian turned, wincing when he moved and his lower lip was cut up. There was a bruise on his cheek, dark and purple just under his eye, and his hair was a mess, clinging to his forehead.

Physical activity.

Far too much physical activity.

She felt her jaw drop again, and _not feeling_ was becoming as much of a challenge as anything else, but Emma could be just as stubborn as the man in front of her, and it probably wasn’t easy for him to see out of his left eye.

“You should see the other guy,” he muttered, an attempt at a smile or flirt and neither one of them worked. Will groaned.

Emma crossed her arms, tongue still impossibly large and possibly growing and that was, easily, the most disgusting thing she’d thought in the last two weeks. She didn’t keep looking at Killian.

She couldn’t keep looking at Killian.

And he knew too.

They were really good at reading each other’s minds.

“Hospital?” Emma asked Ariel. She jumped at suddenly being addressed, but nodded quickly, kicking towards Killian when he sighed.

“Not a word, Cap,” she said, and there was no mistaking the threat in her voice. “I know zamboni people.”

He didn’t answer, closing his eyes and nodding slightly and it must have been painful because Emma could see every single one of his teeth when he gritted them.

“Alright, well, let’s get the fuck out of here,” Will muttered.

She didn’t count the minutes in the back of another ambulance on the way to another hospital.

She didn't.

Really.

Emma filled out paperwork, and signed things and they’d done _all of this_ already, because it had only been two weeks since Nashville, but it felt like several lifetimes in those fourteen days and the words started to blur together by the time they stopped driving.

She refused to believe that was because of the feelings she absolutely, positively had no control of.

Emma was the worst liar in the world.

“They’re going to want to do some more tests,” the EMT explained, already moving Killian into the ER and it was the goddamn ER, all flashing lights and loud noises and she’d left her phone in her office. She had to call Mary Margaret.

She hoped Elsa hung up eventually.

“Ok,” Emma breathed. She didn’t have anymore paperwork to fill out. She didn't know what to do with her hands.

“I’m sure someone will let you know when they’re done.”  
  
“Ok.”   
  
He flashed her, what she assumed, was a supportive smile, but the whole thing felt like wandering through a dream and it was awful and she missed her kids and barely heard Killian mumble _Swan_ , trying to twist off the goddamn stretcher. Both EMTs put their hands on his chest.

“I’ll be here,” Emma promised. Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears, monotone and meaningless, and she hated how her heart hammered against her ribs when Killian’s face dropped. Ariel had been looking at his ribs before.

Husinger must have gotten a few hits in.

“Ok,” Killian whispered.

She stood in the doorway for a few moments, even after the stretcher and the EMTs were gone, feelings and _blue eyes_ practically hanging off her and Emma’s fingers drifted to her left wrist instinctively. She didn’t count those moments either, couldn’t imagine where she’d even begin, really, but the air was cold and it was cold out and that couldn’t be a sign too.

She wouldn’t let it.

She stood there until her lungs started to burn, a twist of unexpected science on the Upper East Side, and she didn’t even jump when Will and Robin appeared behind her. Will rested his hand on her shoulder.

“C’mon, Em,” he said, the smile on his face forced and unnatural. “You’ll freeze out here.”

It didn’t take long for the waiting room to start filling up.

She was ready for it – this team that threatened murder by zamboni and fought over Q&As in the Saturday edition of _The New York Post_ and maybe that was part of the problem. It wasn’t a problem. It was a home.

And Emma was…not thinking about that. Not until after tests and more conversations with doctors and Mary Margaret looked incredibly pale when she rushed into the emergency room, Peggy on her hip and a bag hitting her side every time she took a step.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she started. “There was traffic and we couldn’t get an Uber and then we had some issues and--”  
  
“--What?” Emma asked, already out of her chair and Mary Margaret looked a little surprised to not find her pacing. She nodded behind her, Leo hanging off David’s side and Matt clinging to his back, tear-stained cheeks and a quivering lower lip and Emma sighed.

She blinked back the tears in her eyes.

“Hey, kid,” she said softly, brushing a hand over David’s arm when she moved around him. “You doing ok?” Matt sniffled, pressing his face into David’s shirt. “I’ll buy you a new shirt,” Emma promised.

“I’m not worried about that at all, Em.”

“Mattie, everything’s going to be ok,” Emma muttered, the lie weighing on her tongue and possibly her soul, and her eyes darted across the waiting room. Robin was pacing, hands stuffed in his pockets, and Will kept running his hands through his hair, leg tangled with Roland where the teenager was leaning against his side.

Anna was, honestly, doing a garbage job of pretending like she wasn’t crying, but Mrs. Vankald kept running her fingers through her hair and Mr. Vankald appeared to be intent on setting some kind of record for moving in one chair.

Regina was on her phone.

Emma had no idea where Ruby was. Or Ariel.

“Is Dad ok?” Matt asked softly, barely loud enough to hear over the general commotion of a major metropolitan emergency room and it didn’t matter. Emma swore they all froze, jaws tense and shoulders straight and she felt lightheaded when she stopped breathing.

“Come here,” she mumbled, pulling him away from David’s shirt and it took a moment to get him set on his feet. She rested her hands on his shoulders, a Rangers-branded t-shirt because the world, apparently, kind of hated her or resented her happiness or something that was probably way too dramatic to be thinking when she didn’t actually have a diagnosis.

“Your dad loves you more than anything in the whole world, you know that, right?” Emma asked, and Matt nodded. She wasn’t entirely sure he understood.

She wasn’t entirely sure she believed her own words.

And that was the single worst thing she’d ever thought in her entire life.

“But we can’t win,” Matt said, a statement, not a question and maybe Emma was a mom to the smartest kid on the planet.

She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring how much her goddamn calves hurt when she stayed crouched in front of him, and she could feel him shaking against her, tiny body overflowing with emotion and want and her shirt was damp when she pulled away.

Emma brushed her thumb over Matt’s cheeks, moving hair away from her eyes and there wasn’t enough time to linger on how similar the color was to Killian’s.

Victor coughed a few feet away. He was wearing that stupid stethoscope again. And that’s where Ariel went, hovering behind him with red around around her eyes and hair disheveled and Emma tried to smile.  

It was an absolute piss-poor effort.

“We don’t know that for sure, Dr. J,” Will muttered, dropping next to Emma and tugging familiarly on Matt’s shirt. “Maybe we’ll just call you up instead, huh? You make your Garden debut a little earlier than expected, that’s all.”  
  
“Nuh uh, Class of...whatever math I did that one time,” Robin objected. Roland pulled a puck from somewhere, tossing it in the air and Matt’s eyes widened to a size that was almost equivalent to the goddamn puck. “There’s got to be some space space somewhere on this block for some fun, right?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Locksley?” Ruby asked, voice gruff when she seemingly materialized in the waiting room and Emma knew, without a shadow of a doubt, she’d been yelling at several curious reporters.

Will glanced up, still holding onto Matt so he wouldn’t try to climb on any medical equipment. “Where you been Lucas?”  
  
“Don’t test me, William.”   
  
“William, huh?”   
  
“Felt apropos.”   
  
“Fancy.”   
  
Emma stood back up, wincing when the muscles in her calves almost audibly objected to that, and Ruby flashed her a cautious glance. “Bad?” she asked. Ruby nodded.

“As bad it’s ever...worse than the first accident.”  
  
“How is that possible?” Emma balked, ignoring Mary Margaret’s quiet tongue click when her voice climbed. Victor was still lurking behind them.

“It wasn’t practice before, Em. This was...there was a considerable amount of storming.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“You don’t know?”   
  
Emma shrugged, those feelings and emotions threatening to overwhelm her again and she bit her lip to avoid both of them completely. “I just kind of showed up on the bench and I mean I knew there was…” She mimed something that didn’t really look like punching because there was a still-crying four year old standing next to her and Peggy had fallen asleep at some point.

“Yeah, it was kind of more than that,” Ruby mumbled, eyes flitting to Regina and the phone calls that never ended. Emma’s heart plummeted. “They, uh...they kind of wrecked each other, Em.”  
  
“He wasn’t kidding about the other guy,” Ariel added.

“So I’ve been putting out fires and requests for comment and Arthur’s already talking to front office because Arthur might have tried to get into it as well and then Rook offered to stay behind as a witness or something.”  
  
“We needed witnesses?” Emma asked. Ruby shrugged again.

“It was bad,” Will repeated. “And like Lucas said. It was practice. We were all in jerseys. There’s probably video evidence. “  
  
“Oh shit,” Ruby hissed, waving her hands when she was met with several reprimands for the curse. “I didn’t even think about that. Damn. Who’s Regina been talking to?”

“I think she’s on the call with front office and Arthur,” Robin muttered. He slung an arm around Roland’s shoulder, pulling him away from the line of plastic chairs and grinned at Matt. “What do you say kid, you think we can find a few feet of space on this block to shoot at the side of a building or something?”

“Do you even have a stick?” David asked.

Robin’s grin widened. “We stole Arthur’s again. Mattie’s almost getting pretty used to shooting with that one, right?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matt yelled. He bobbed on his feet, tears still on his cheeks, but it was enough of a distraction that Emma almost breathed easier.

And then she looked at Victor again.

“Em,” he said. “You, uh...you might want to come with me for a sec.”

“Ok,” she nodded, but her feet didn’t want to cooperate and Matt’s eyes were still wide. “I’ll be back soon, ok? Go score eighty-six goals on Rol.”  
  
Roland groaned. “Ah, that’s a lot of goals, Emma.”   
  
“I’m confident in my kid.” She turned back to Matt, fingers ghosting over the curve of his jaw and the collar of his shirt and that smile wasn’t fair at all. Far too similar. The emotions were threatening again. “I love you,” Emma whispered, ducking back down to rest her forehead against Matt’s. He hugged her again.

“I love you, Mom.”

“Eighty-six goals.”

“Let’s go, Dr. J,” Will said, grabbing him around the waist and his laugh echoed in the room even after they walked out the hospital doors.

Emma took a deep breath before she walked forward, fluorescent light glinting off the end of Victor’s absurd stethoscope. He held his arm out, directing her around the corner and for as loud as it had been in the waiting room, the hallway was suspiciously abandoned.

Every door to every room was closed.

Emma’s deep breath wasn’t helping her at all.

“They’ve done more tests,” Victor started, and Emma didn’t object when Ariel’s hand laced through hers. “And there’s nothing that’s immediately pressing.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “That seems good, right?”  
  
“Yes and no.”

“Victor, are we going to do this song and dance again?”  
  
“I’d really rather you didn’t yell at me again,” he admitted. “Cap’s incredibly lucky he didn’t sustain another concussion. That Husinger guys got a wicked hook. Anyway,” he said quickly, noticing the look on Emma’s face. “That doesn’t mean there aren’t issues. His left maxilla is broken and--”

“--What the hell is that?” Emma interrupted.

“His cheekbone, basically,” Ariel answered.

“Exactly,” Victor said. “And, his ribs are a little bruised. We were worried about some of the vision issues from before, but like I said, no new concussion. But it does bring us back to square one a bit.”  
  
Emma tilted her head. “How so?”

“I’ve already told Arthur. And Cap, honestly.”  
  
“How so, Victor?”

“He can’t come back, Emma. Not for the rest of the season, not with the facial injury and the concussion symptoms still there. We can’t...there are too many variables. We can’t risk that. The league would have our asses. It’s a goddamn miracle we all haven’t been fired yet.”  
  
Emma’s neck snapped up, eyes narrow enough that she could barely see a few inches in front of her, but she did notice Victor take a step back. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Of course not. I’m worried about Cap’s fucking brain, but he showed up on the ice today, a week before he should have even been thinking about being anywhere near the ice and kind of sealed his own fate. I don’t know what’ll happen if he gets hit again this season. Or after.”  
  
“After?”

Emma’s voice cracked, shuddering its way out of her and she apologized to Ariel when her grip tightened. “At least the season,” Ariel whispered, but there were tears in her eyes again. “But there’s no guarantee he’ll come back.”

And, really, Emma kind of knew.

She knew the story was coming and she knew, eventually, something would give – this game and this team and how much of _him_ was tied up in both of those things. It was too much, but now there was no more season and it was like all those emotions and all those words and worries and the absolute, complete, overwhelming _dread_ crashed over her and Emma’s knees buckled.

She closed her eyes, teeth digging into her lip and body shivering because it was the middle of February, but Emma was positive the air conditioning in that hospital was on high.

She didn’t think it really had anything to do with the nonexistent air conditioning.

Emma didn’t count those seconds either, but she was sure there weren’t many of them before Mary Margaret and David were there, pulling her outstretched arm away from Ariel’s grip and wrapping in her in their arms and they were a weird, awkward mess of limbs and tears and shaking shoulders, but they didn’t let go and she didn’t stop crying.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Mary Margaret said, repeating it like some kind of mantra and maybe if she kept saying it, Emma would believe it. “Hey, hey, Emma, look at me.”  
  
Emma did, begrudgingly, trying to catch her breath as Mary Margaret’s knuckles wiped under her eyes. “This is not the end of the world,” she whispered, smiling through Emma’s scoff. “No matter what happens.”   
  
“We don’t know what’ll happen,” Emma argued.

“Exactly. So you don’t know it’ll be bad by default.”  
  
“Have you met me?”

Mary Margaret laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Emma’s head and David was sitting on the floor. He tugged Emma against his side, letting her legs drape over his while his hand rubbed circles into her back. “I think we’ve been introduced a few times,” he grinned. “But it’s bigger than that now. You’re not that same person anymore. We all know that.”

“The whole season,” Emma breathed. “And maybe--”  
  
“--You can’t do that to yourself, Emma. You’ll go crazy.”   
  
“I think I might be there.”   
  
“One crying jag in the hospital seems pretty fair, honestly,” Mary Margaret reasoned. They were all going to have incredibly sculpted calves after the crouching they were doing.

Emma scoffed, some of the tempest in her settling, but it all just sat heavy in her stomach and there were goosebumps on her arms. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in antiseptic and that _hospital smell_ that burned the inside of her nose and, possibly, her lungs and a bit of whatever detergent Mary Margaret and David used.

Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder.

“Two doors on the left,” Mary Margaret said, answering the question Emma hadn’t voiced. She wasn’t sure she could.

Emma nodded, yanking the back of her palms across her cheeks and she did count steps that time, twelve measured movements and fingers twisting around her ring and the door creaked when she opened it.

He was in bed.

She wasn’t sure where else he’d have been, but her breath caught in her throat anyway. There were far too many machines and an IV and everything was beeping. His stomach was wrapped, an ACE bandage that looked unnatural against the color of his skin, and gauze just under his eye. She could still make out the swelling.

Killian blinked when she closed the door behind her, trying to sit up straighter and she wasn’t sure who made what sound louder – his wince or her sigh and--

“If you move again, I’ll totally take Ariel up on that zamboni murder threat, I swear to God,” Emma said. Killian blinked again.

“Emma, I…”  
  
“No, no, that’s not how this is going to work. Do you know how terrifying some of those CTE symptoms are?”   
  
“What?”   
  
“CTE, Emma repeated, enunciating every letter and she nearly checked to make sure they hadn’t branded themselves on her arm. It felt that way. “It’s terrifying. Some of the things that can happen to people who’ve suffered too many concussions or the perfect concussion, some storm of hitting the right spot at the wrong time and it’s…”   
  
“Emma, have you been looking up CTE symptoms?”   
  
She wished he’d stop using her name.

Her name wasn’t the control she wanted, wasn’t the direction she need this conversation to take. It was heavy and desperate and Emma might have been both, was _definitely_ both, but she was also furious and confused and as disappointed as she could ever remember being.

“That’s not an answer, love,” Killian said softly, and he didn’t flinch when she glared at him.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Obviously.”  
  
“Why?”   
  
“Why? Killian, are you fucking kidding me?”

“That’s not what this is, Swan,” he continued. “They gave us a diagnosis two weeks ago. And, yes, to answer your question.”  
  
“When Liam got hurt?”

He nodded – another movement she didn’t entirely appreciate, but he was stubborn and _stubborn_ and she couldn’t think of another word. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream. She wanted to stomp her foot and shout about _two kids who need you_ and _I need you_ and he knew both of those things already.

He had to.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the headaches?” Emma asked. It obviously wasn’t the question he was waiting for, lips parting and breath quiet when he exhaled. He tapped his fingers on the bit of mattress next to him, scars dim on his skin, but still obvious and if she never came up with another metaphor it would be several different miracles.

“I told you why.”  
  
“And I’d really like to know the actual answer.”   
  
“You think I’ve been lying to you for the last two weeks?” Killian asked.

“Yeah,” Emma said simply, and Killian looked like he’d just taken another sucker punch to the ribs. “Because you showed up at practice and destroyed some guy for the hell of it.”  
  
“That’s not what it was.”   
  
“Then talk to me,” she yelled. She wished she hadn’t actually stomped her foot. “Do you know what could have happened if you just kept playing? There are so many...I’ve read so much…”

“You shouldn’t have read about it, Swan. None of it happened. None of it’s going to happen.”  
  
“You don’t know that.”   
  
He sighed, eyes falling closed and all the fight falling out of him, and another machine beeped. “You know when Liam got hurt,” he mumbled. “He couldn’t even form words for three days after. I walked into the hospital room and he could barely move. They weren’t sure what the lasting effects would be and he was a lucky bastard, because it should have been worse. It should have been it, honestly. Every study said that. The doctors told Mr. and Mrs. V he might never be the same.”   
  
“That’s not what happened, though.”   
  
“I know. But that’s what I remember. Someone says concussion protocol and that’s the first thing I think of. Liam in a hospital bed with forty-two wires sticking out of him and it was all my fault.”   
  
Emma swallowed, the tears on her cheeks warm as she wiped them away and Killian couldn’t look at her. “Do you think you’ll ever believe it wasn’t?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s your fault. Our kids don’t think it’s your fault.”   
  
“That’s because our kids think I’m going to win a Stanley Cup this year.”

She didn’t move. She wanted to move. She wanted to walk three steps forward and brush the hair out of his eyes and kiss the lines away from his face and promise she believed in everything else. More than anything.

Indefinitely.

She couldn’t move.

“It’s not Husinger’s team,” Emma said. Her voice shook. She might have been shaking. It was cold again. “You know that, don’t you?”  
  
“It isn’t about Husinger.”   
  
“God, if you lie to me one more time I’m going to make more zamboni-based threats.”   
  
Killian chuckled, low and a little menacing and his eyes were dark when he finally looked at her. “No, lie, Swan. It honestly isn’t about Husinger.”

“Then what the hell is it about?” she cried, and it was only a matter of time before her other foot joined the stomping fray. It was too much emotion. The machines were too loud.

She couldn’t think.

“Why don’t you want to talk to me about this job?”

“Jesus Christ, Killian, that’s not the point.”  
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Because you are sitting in another hospital bed with even more wires that I don’t understand and Victor’s making veiled threats to the rest of your career and Husinger was a dick. He’s trying to steal his fifteen minutes of fame, but you are the captain of this team. This is your team. It’s been your team forever. You didn’t have to defend it.”

He made a contrary noise, half a smirk and half a grimace and Emma’s feet finally staged a bit of a revolt, moving forward without her express permission. There were more goosebumps when Killian’s fingers trailed across her forearm.

“Why won’t you talk to me about this job?” he repeated.

“That’s not important.”  
  
“Emma.”   
  
“God, stop it!”   
  
“The job, Swan.”   
  
“Because I might want it,” Emma said sharply, practically growling out the words. It took several lifetimes, at least, for Killian to turn his head, expression unreadable when he looked at her, and she’d lost complete control of her tear ducts.

“That’s not a bad thing,” he muttered. His fingers were still moving. Like he was making sure she hadn’t disappeared. Or left on a multi-city road trip to help expand hockey fandom. “You’d be incredible at that.”  
  
She had to lick her lips before she answered, dry from breathing out of her mouth and surviving several typhoons-worth of emotions. “It’s not that easy.”   
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Because it’s so much travel and I’m...I thought this was--”

“--It,” Killian whispered, and one of them probably held on tighter when Emma laced her fingers through his, but she wasn’t entirely she’d even moved first so it seemed like a wash.

That was another water pun.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the headaches?” Emma asked. “Why’d you go find this guy when you saw the story? I was...I was in my office. We could have…”  
  
Killian didn’t answer immediately, tongue flashing between his lips and Emma’s knee collided with the bed frame when he tugged lightly on her arm. She needed to get that goosebump thing checked out. There were more when he brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Because if it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else,” he said. “Because I’ve looked up CTE symptoms too and worried and wondered and I couldn’t...that couldn’t be it, Swan. One hit? Not after everything. Not when there’s still so much left.

And if I said something, if I told them or got the MRI, it could have been all of that. Liam in a hospital bed and my fault all over again. It wasn’t about Husinger. It was about whoever they called up because none of this is guaranteed. It can just end.”  
  
“Right hit, wrong time,” Emma mumbled, and Killian hummed against her hand.

“It’s my team, Swan. It’s me. I’m--”  
  
“--Way more than that,” she said, cutting in and cutting him off and her body was in open rebellion now, knees bending so she could sit on the edge of the bed. “You have to know that. Right?”

The question sounded far more pitiful than she wanted it to, quiet and anxious and Killian’s eyes fell back to his legs, a scratchy hospital blanket draped over him.  

“Killian,” Emma continued. There wasn’t enough room to twist. She didn’t care, ignoring the state of her spine and several other internal organs that all felt like they were shutting down and he was right.

If it wasn’t Husinger, it would have been someone else. It would have been another upstart kid, and another roster filler and it could all be gone, even with eight years and endorsement deals and two kids who were certain they were going to win the Stanley Cup that year.

Well, one.

Peggy probably didn’t get it yet.

“This was supposed to be it, Emma,” he whispered. “It’s not supposed to get pulled away. Not until I let it.”

And she knew.

Killian Jones wanted to win.

She’d known from the very first season, from the very first time he got hit and her breath caught in her throat and the worry landed in the center of her and it still didn’t make a difference.

Because it could end and Emma had never been very good with change.   
  
Even after everything.

“I love you,” Killian said softly, and Emma’s mouth didn’t move. She nodded. “You have to know that. Right?”  
  
Emma nodded again.

Killian sighed.

She needed to get up, untwist her legs and spine, and there was an entire waiting room in desperate need of updates, but Killian’s fingers were still wrapped up in hers and she’d never be able to describe the noise he made when she tried to stand.

“No, no,” he stammered. “Don’t...don’t go, ok? I know they’re all...they can wait. Please. Stay. For a little while at least.”

“Ok,” Emma said, settling back on the edge and she didn’t argue when Killian curled his arm around her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For what it's worth, the name of this chapter on my color-coded plot was THE BLOW UP, so hopefully it lived up to that. And, you know, sometimes people are idiots and they do stupid stuff and act impulsively and punch other people in the face only after they start insulting their kids. 
> 
> If you're sticking with this one, I really appreciate it. Feel free to come hang out on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if your'e so inclined.


	8. Chapter 8

“He should have shot there.”

Peggy squirmed against his side, dangerously close to the ribs that weren’t broken, but just a little bruised and it had taken far more than it should have for Emma to agree to leaving her in the apartment that morning.

Three days after the fight and another overnight hospital visit, and Killian was still a little sore and a little black and blue and he had a press conference that afternoon.

They were calling it that.

Officially.

Or, whatever.

He’d only been kind of listening when Ruby told him the details and where he had to be and when he had to be there because it was slightly difficult to hear over the ringing in his ears.

The rest of the season.

And maybe longer.

His face hurt like hell.

And Emma hadn’t said much in the last seventy-two hours, just quiet words and deft nods and she kept holding onto Peggy like some kind of stabilizing anchor against several thousand waves of overwhelming uncertainty.

That was way too dramatic. It would have been a good headline though. Maybe he’d mention that to the reporters at the press conference.

Ruby would hate that.

That might be, like, sixty-two percent of the reason he’d do it.

“Da, da, da, da, da,” Peggy shouted, and Killian nearly dropped the tablet he was holding. They’d been watching film, dissecting plays that were, quite honestly, pretty bad because the Rangers had lost again on Monday and Killian refused to believe it had anything to do with the fight he’d started during the Rangers practice on Saturday, but Arthur had bumped Husinger to third line and the internet had, collectively, lost its mind.

He might have looked.

He might have done that before he and Peggy started watching film.

And she started muttering sounds that actually sounded like words.

Words that sounded a hell of a lot like a name for him.

“You trying to get my attention, little love?” Killian asked. A tiny fist collided with the front of his t-shirt, hardly enough to even register as much of anything, but he’d been sleeping like shit _again_ and Emma kept pacing in the kitchen and, presumably, her office and Phillip’s ceremony was tomorrow night.

So, really, Killian figured it almost made sense that getting punched in the metaphorical emotional gut by his daughter was more than enough reason for whatever was happening to his pulse and he wanted to talk to Emma.

They hadn't been avoiding each other – not really. They lived in the same apartment and slept in the same bed, but it felt like several walls and a few NHL-size hockey rinks between them and she still hadn’t said anything about this job.

They hadn’t said anything about what would happen if he _didn’t_ play again.

Or he _couldn’t_ play again.

“I wasn’t trying to ignore you,” Killian continued, staring at green eyes and hair that was almost alarmingly similar to his. Except the curls. She’d have exceptionally curly hair. “I was just..thinking, you know?”  
  
Peggy twisted in his hold, toes colliding with a different ACE bandage that Emma had wrapped that morning because _there’s no point in not knowing how to do this_ and he might have fallen a little more in love with her again in that moment. Which was almost as absurd a thought as the whole _waves_ thing from before, but Killian was, maybe, dealing with the end of a career and his wife was, admittedly, very stubborn.

And determined to make sure he didn’t walk too much.

He loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

More than hockey.

He needed to tell her that.

He should have told her that already.

“Yeah, I know thinking’s not as fun as the game, is it?” Killian asked, sliding a bit further down the couch and that actually helped him breathe easier. He wasn’t sure how that happened, but he wasn’t going to complain, Peggy tucked snug against his chest with her fingers gripping the front of his t-shirt. “Ok, see, watch this part.”

He nodded towards the screen and Peggy’s eyes moved, flashing to the replay and the team film he probably wasn’t supposed to have because there was more than just the end of his career on the line.

Maybe.

There were probably more tests and another string of doctor’s appointments, but Regina had _never_ glared as intently as she had when she stalked into the hospital room on Saturday night and immediately cursed out every decision he’d ever made.

Killian deserved that.

He shouldn’t have hit Husinger.

He kind of wanted to hit Husinger again.

Peggy made another noise, not quite a _da_ but possibly a bit of a screech and Will checked the guy in Philadelphia especially hard. “That’s not the part I was talking about,” Killian muttered.

It took some finangling to rewind, but none of his ribs cracked in the process and that felt like a victory. The pillow under his back was helping.

He assumed.

“This,” he said, free hand tracing over Peggy’s back and she wasn’t watching the game anymore. She was a baby. Her lack of attention span was understandable. “Here,” Killian said, tapping lightly against a tiny t-shirt and she actually hummed in response. “You know you might be the smartest baby in the world. Don’t tell your brother that.”

She didn’t respond.

Figured.  
  
“Ok,” Killian muttered, moving Peggy slightly until she was propped up against his bicep staring at the tablet resting against the back of the couch. “See...right….here.”

Will was standing at the blue line, working point on a power play that looked like especially horrible garbage in the last two weeks, but Killian didn’t really have a leg to stand on in that particular argument and he wasn’t supposed to be watching film.

Robin sent it.

“Watch Phillip,” Killian said, tapping his thumb against the white jersey standing in front of the net. Peggy gurgled. They needed to eat. “Ok, see, Pegs, he’s trying to screen the goalie, right? But he’s not getting his angles right. He’s too close to the paint and he’s making himself smaller. It’s easy to see around him.”  
  
Peggy fidgeted, a knee in his side that didn’t feel particularly pleasant, and maybe none of them had been sleeping. Eat and nap and, hopefully, show up for his own press conference at the right time.

“I know, it’s incredibly frustrating,” Killian grinned. He brushed his lips over the top of her hair, and he couldn’t stop moving his hand, over her and tracing against team-branded merch and tiny limbs that were deceptively strong. He still hadn’t seen her pull herself up or weeble around, but he lived in potentially misplaced hope and that should probably be the subhead to his personal life story.

He was on a roll.

The reporters at the presser wouldn’t even have to do any work.

“Rook still hasn’t quite figured out how to position himself there,” Killian said, voice betraying him because that was his spot and his power play and his team and he was definitely the one who needed the nap. “But if he did, he would have been able to block the goalie from seeing that Robin was wide open. And he should have shot as soon as the puck landed on his stick. But our power play is incredibly bad now. So that didn’t happen and we lost another game. And Arthur broke another whiteboard. See? Right here.”

He hit the table again, pausing the stupid thing in the process and they both made a noise that was mostly just general frustration with the state of the entire world. “That’s not what I was trying to do. You know that too, right?”

“Da, da, da, da, da,” Peggy yelled, the sound echoing off the walls of the otherwise empty apartment and, possibly, Killian’s brain and he didn’t think before tossing the tablet on the table next to them.

“You’re absolutely right. We don’t need to watch anymore of that game. They all look terrible anyway, no one knows how to screen the goalie.”

He knew he was babbling – talking about goalie screens and slap shots like it didn’t physically pain him to even think any of those words, but Killian was drifting dangerously close to several metaphorical edges and the ends of a few other ropes and Peggy climbed back onto his chest without any prompting.

He wished Emma was there to see that.

He had no idea where his phone was. He should have taken a picture or something. God, he should have talked to Emma. Preferably before beating the shit out of Husinger.

He was absolutely going to get fined.

And he was absolutely convinced the only reason Regina hadn’t stormed into the apartment and told him just that was because Robin had stopped her. And because he was scared she’d find out he was still sending Killian game film.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he mumbled, smiling to himself when Peggy burrowed against him. That felt oddly familiar too. “We’ll sleep and then we’ll eat, huh? And probably make Lucas really mad when we inevitably show up late to the presser.”  
  
“Da!”  
  
“I know, sweetheart, I know. We won’t think about the presser at all. Although,” he added softly, fingers drifting over her back and her breath was warm even through his shirt. The pillow underneath him was actually pretty comfortable. That was probably a sign. He really hoped that was a sign. “You know, if we get to this presser a little earlier, we might be able to hang out with Mom. Or, at least, see Mom for a few minutes. That’d be kind of good, right?”

She didn’t answer. She was thirteen months old. And well on her way to a mid-afternoon nap.

Killian’s smile settled on his face easily, something calming what might have been several hurricanes and frayed ropes and he’d clearly lost his mind. He was going to have to tell Phillip how to screen a goddamn goalie.

“What if we got Mom some hot chocolate before we left?” Killian asked, speaking more to the air around him than his daughter because Peggy was absolutely asleep already. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea. We’re going to do that.”

He took a deep breath, sliding further down the couch and that was clearly what he was missing because the pillow moved with him, landing on some previously undiscovered section of incredibly sore body and Killian nearly laughed with how absurdly comfortable he was.

His fingers stilled on Peggy’s back, palm flat against t-shirt and skin and his neck didn’t entirely appreciate when he moved to kiss the top of her head, but his neck could, honestly, fuck off and he closed his eyes with the smile still on his face.

Killian didn’t remember falling asleep, seemed to settle into the state almost _too_ easily, which was probably another sign, but he’d had more than enough of those in the last two weeks, and he jerked up when the first knock came.

His neck didn’t appreciate that either.

He hadn’t been to PT in days. There was probably a whole new slate of things he wasn’t allowed to do.

Killian blinked blearily, sleep lingering on the edge of his consciousness and Peggy stirred against him. “Shh, it’s ok,” he mumbled, but that was a battle he was never going to win. Her chin was shaking already. “No, no, no, c’mon, Pegs, we were doing good. We were sleeping. It’s probably a very aggressive mailman.”  
  
That was the worst lie he’d told in the last two weeks and three days.

That was the worst lie he’d ever told.

They knocked again.

Killian sighed, but was drifting closer to a groan with every passing second – knocking coming quicker and more impatient and there might have been a few kicks in there as well. And possibly a shoulder or two. Maybe a hip.

Peggy started crying.

“We’re going to murder all of them, huh?” Killian asked, staring at the baby clawing at his t-shirt. “And we really shouldn’t be endorsing murder, should we? Not quite super dad, status is it?”  
  
“KJ,” Anna shouted from behind the door. His eyes closed again, frustration slinking down his spine and colliding with exhaustion and disappointment and a general sense of anxiety that had been at the crux of his state of being since he got hit in New Jersey. “We can hear you talking to the baby in there. You are not fooling anyone.”  
  
“You guys woke both me and that baby up, so you don’t get to claim any conversational superiority.”  
  
“None of that made sense! And how do you know that there are more people out here than me? You do not have x-ray vision.”  
  
“That’s true,” he admitted, still sitting on the couch and trying to quiet Peggy was a lot more difficult when he was also screaming across the apartment. “But I don’t think you have quite that many limbs either, Banana, so it’d probably be pretty difficult for you to hit the door that much on your own.”

Anna didn’t say anything. Killian grinned at Peggy. “Totally got her on that one,” he mumbled.

“I heard that too,” Anna yelled, kicking at the door and the laugh that came with it was decidedly deeper than her voice.

“That was actually pretty good,” Will said, probably shrugging and Anna stopped kicking the door for a moment. She was kicking him in the shins. “God, shit, I am on your side in this argument, little Vankald, you can’t attack your own teammates.”

“Shut up, Scarlet. He wasn’t supposed to know we were doing this.”  
  
Killian scoffed, some his frustration evolving into acceptance and it was really only a matter of time. He was getting tired of waiting for Regina’s glares anyway. “How many of them do you think are out there?” he asked Peggy, slinging his legs back onto the floor and the tablet had turned itself off at some point.

He’d probably forgotten to charge it.

“We did call,” Robin yelled. “Several times, in fact.”  
  
“Were you the one checking the door, Locksley? You’re old, you shouldn’t be doing that when you’ve got a game tomorrow night.”  
  
“Shut up, Cap. Where’s you’re phone?”  
  
“I can’t answer the question if I actually do shut up, you realize that, right?”  
  
“Open the goddamn door.”  
  
“I mean, not with that attitude.”  
  
“KJ,” Anna whined, a dull thud against the door that was most likely her entire body. Her kicks sounded a little lackadaisical. “You’re making this really difficult.”  
  
“You woke us up, Banana,” he argued. He stood up, despite the desire to tell however many of them were standing in the hallway to _fuck off_ , and Peggy clung to his side when he moved across the living room.

Killian blinked when he opened the door, not entirely surprised to find them all there, but still a little overwhelmed by the whole lot of them – head to toe team apparel and they were probably blowing off walk-through and they were all going to go bankrupt from the fines.

Anna crossed her arms when Killian didn’t immediately invite them in, likely documenting his distinct lack of manners so she could tattle on him to Mrs. Vankald like they were twelve years old again. Robin’s eyes darted across him, checking for new bumps or bruises or contusions, as Regina glared with a power that could only be described as harrowing. Ariel was already tugging on the front of his shirt, clicking her tongue because it probably wasn’t clean enough or was prone to irritating his skin and Killian swatted her hand when she didn’t stop immediately.

Will chuckled under his breath, hooking his chin over Anna’s shoulder and there was a phone in his hand, a flash of blonde hair and dark curls that were almost _too_ similar to Peggy’s to be entirely comfortable and they’d brought in reinforcements.

“Where’s Lucas?” Killian asked, and he cursed when Anna kicked him in the ankle. “Banana, if you do that again, you will never be allowed in this apartment for the rest of your life. You understand? I don’t care how much my kids like you.”

Liam laughed in Colorado. “That’s a real empty threat, little brother. Plus, Anna would absolutely steal your kids. She’s a kid thief.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Anna groaned. “That’s not true. KJ, I’m not trying to steal your children. Jeez, Liam. That’s mean. Honestly. That’s what that is.”  
  
Elsa clicked her tongue, an _ehhh_ that drew another laugh out of Will and maybe they could just stage the whole intervention in the hallway. It might end quicker that way. “You got something to add, El?” Will asked lightly, holding the phone up so Anna could scowl at it.  
  
“I’m just saying,” Elsa started, “Anna was kind of super into Lizzie and the twins too. She’s baby obsessed.”

“And,” Ariel added. “She sent Dylan more gifts than, like, anyone else we knew. It was super nice, but it was a lot.”  
  
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m not super into your kids now?” Anna challenged, and Killian pressed his mouth into Peggy’s shoulder so he wouldn’t laugh too loud. “That’s also rude. I’m the best aunt any of these kids could ask for.”  
  
“Eh,” Will mumbled, yelping when Anna’s toe collided with his shin again.

Ariel sounded like she was growling. “Can we not resort to violence? Please? I already have enough to worry about with Cap and the other asshole.”  
  
“Is that what we’re officially calling him?” Robin asked.

“You not like that?”  
  
He shrugged, and Killian muttered several words against the side of Peggy’s head. She was starting to feel heavier than usual. “It’s just not really all that creative,” Robin said. “Feels too on the nose.”  
  
“Yeah, the next time you guys come up with tabloid-worthy nicknames for people, you should really get more creative,” Killian murmured. He didn’t lift his head up.

“Thin ice, Cap,” Ariel warned. “Thin ice.”  
  
“That was even less clever.”

Anna was still kicking at Will, and this whole thing was treading dangerously close to farce. He had hot chocolate to buy.

“Shit, little Vankald,” Will gasped, jumping back from another attack. “Are you made of steel? You should be studied.”  
  
“I’m definitely the best fighter in this family, so I would consider your next words very carefully, Scarlet.”  
  
“I mean that’s definitely true,” Liam agreed. “You ever see Killian try and throw a right hook? It’s embarrassing.” He grinned when Anna’s head whipped towards him, still scowling and a little annoyed and no one had answered Killian’s question. They must have bribed the doorman.

“Liam offered to send the guy a signed puck,” Robin explained, one side of his mouth tugging up. Killian’s jaw dropped slightly. “Apparently the guy is a not-so-secret Jones brother aficionado and--”  
  
“--His words too, Cap,” Will added. “We’re thinking about making him an official member of the group. We don’t have an aficionado. Makes us sound more professional, don’t you think?”

Killian tilted his head. Liam was hysterical. “What the hell does that even mean?”  
  
“It means your doorman is obsessed with you,” Regina answered easily, eyes darting away from the phone she’d pulled out at some point. “So you should probably get that checked out. He was very easy to bribe.”

“You been bribing a lot of people recently, Gina?”  
  
“We’ll get to that part eventually.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
He didn’t expect her to smile. It was disconcerting. He wished she’d glare some more. That was definitely why she smiled.

“That’s point number six on the intervention schedule,” she said. Killian’s eyes bugged.

“How many points are there?”  
  
“It’s kind of a fluid thing,” Anna shrugged. “We came up with ten to start with, but that’s not set in stone or anything. We don’t want to be locked into anything if things don’t play out the way we think they’re supposed to be playing out.”  
  
“Speak English, Banana.”  
  
She glowered, expression going dark which was almost strange to see, but at this point Killian was almost ready for anything and he knew the intervention was coming.

In surround sound. With a schedule. Of the fluid variety.

“It depends on how difficult you’re going to be, KJ,” Elsa added. “But Pegs is here and we weren’t entirely counting on that, so I think now Scarlet has to take all the curse words out of his speech.”  
  
“You wrote a speech?” Killian asked.

Will shrugged. “More like a...proclamation. Of your previously mentioned stupidity.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“I’ll work around the curses, but I want it taken into account that I’m now speaking on the fly and cannot be held accountable for any scathing examinations of your character I decide to make in the moment.”  
  
“What he’s saying is he should come with a parental advisory warning,” Liam chipped in. “Although I did read it when they were coming back from Philly and some of it did tug at several different heart strings.”  
  
“Ah, shit, Liam, I sent you that in confidence.”  
  
“You sent Liam an e-mail on the bus?” Robin balked, and Killian was seriously debating closing the door on all of them. He’d call Elsa after to apologize. “How did I not notice that?”  
  
“Is Locksley stealing your armrest now too?” Killian asked softly, and he wasn’t sure who was laughing louder in Colorado.

“Nah,” Will shook his head. “I was sitting with Rook and Locksley claimed a whole row to himself because he’s old and needed to, quoting, stretch his legs.”  
  
Liam was definitely laughing louder.

“It’s a two-hour bus ride, Locksley,” Liam yelled, Elsa trying to quiet him and muttering about _staying on track_.

“Yeah, and I had to stretch out my calf because I took that puck to the back of my leg in the third when someone didn’t get back on defense in time.”  
  
“I refused to accept the blame for that before and I refuse to accept it now,” Will said. He was supporting most of Anna’s weight now, her hair half over his shoulder and some of it brushing against his arm and they’d definitely blown off the walk-through.

“That’s because you don’t want to acknowledge that you shouldn’t have been that high up in the zone. You’re trying to score and that’s not your game.”  
  
“He’s got a point,” Liam mumbled.  
  
Will forced the phone into Anna’s hand. “Well done, Liam,” she sighed. “This was not part of any schedule for telling you you’re the world’s biggest idiot, KJ. Do not judge our schedule by whatever this has dissolved into.”  
  
“Oh I’m not,” Killian promised, hitching up Peggy when one of her hands found the back of his hair. “I’m judging it for the rest of the shit you just said, but certainly not for its state of current dissolving or whatever.”  
  
“You don’t understand enough science to make those kinds of jokes.”  
  
“I’ll ask Mary Margaret after tomorrow’s game.”  
  
“She teaches English, KJ,” Elsa said.

Regina glared at all of them. And pushed by Killian to walk through the half-open doorway. She didn’t stop walking until she almost ran into the coffee table and the dead tablet, arching an eyebrow when she turned back around.

Robin mumbled _ah fuck_ under his breath.

“Maybe that will be point eleven on the conversation schedule,” Regina said. “So are we going to do this or not?”  
  
“If I tell you all to the get the hell out of my apartment is that going to make a difference?”

“Absolutely not. You planning on showing up to your presser late?”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re a terrible liar,” Regina said, tapping the toe of her shoe impatiently. “And you’re getting fined. Quite a bit, in fact.”  
  
Killian blinked – and he could almost feel the blood rushing out of his head, everything suddenly feeling far colder than it had a few minutes before. He licked his lips, breathing heavily with his mouth wide open and Peggy clearly did not appreciate how tightly he was holding her.

“Sorry, love,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the jut of her shoulder and the back of her head and he didn’t let go of her.

Regina’s eyebrow did not make sense at all.

“Ah, shit, Gina,” Will groaned, kicking the door closed behind them and Anna was already trying to find drinks for everyone. “We were going to work up to that. We all agreed.”  
  
“How much thought went into this, exactly?” Killian asked.

“Probably a lot more than you’re thinking.”  
  
“Why? And when did you start?”  
  
Will laughed at the questions, a little disbelief mixing into the sound and that wasn’t really fair. Killian knew why.

It was the same reason they’d tried to intervene before and why Anna showed up in New York and no one had told him about the Husinger story before it got published. Because it wasn’t just a team, it was _more_ and it had been for years and would continue to be no matter what happened next and Killian should have told Emma about the headaches.

He hadn’t had a headache since the hospital.

Even after that asshole broke his face.

“You know why, Cap,” Will muttered, perched on the arm of the couch. “We all would have lined up to hit that asshole. Willingly. No one said a word to him when he got bumped.”  
  
“That was only one of the questions.”  
  
“Ah, yeah--”  
  
“--After Mary Margaret told Lucas that Emma had a difficult time standing up when Victor said you were done for the season,” Robin interrupted, voice gruffer than it had been in years and Killian had to swallow before he could bring himself to turn and look at him.

He’d seen that look, exactly, once before.

It had been weeks at that point, and Killian hadn’t moved an inch, sitting stock-still against the wall in his room, legs splayed out in front of him and a bandage around his hand that Mrs. Vankald had to change every morning.

He thought it was over then too, everything he’d ever worked for gone in a moment and an instance and he hadn’t gone to her funeral. He couldn’t go to her funeral. He couldn't get off the goddamn floor, sunlight streaming in through the window that Killian consistently found downright offensive.

And he hadn’t even tried to hide the bottle in his hand when he heard the footsteps, certain, eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Vankald would just have _enough_ and he’d lose that too and he’d always been a melodramatic asshole.

Robin hadn’t said anything at first either, just stood in the doorway, staring straight ahead with a look that was equal parts pity and fury. Killian hadn’t entirely understood it at the time, couldn’t rationalize how one person could care that much, but the floorboards creaked when Robin walked into the room, yanking the bottle out of his hand and talking for sixteen minutes.

Straight.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t pause. He didn’t let Killian get a single word in.

Not that Killian would have had much to say.

So Robin kept talking and making that face and Ariel must have been lurking in the stairwell, because she appeared out of seemingly nowhere promising _I can fix this_ and _this isn’t the end_ and it wasn’t.

No matter what Killian believed.

They wouldn’t let it be.

God, now he was going to owe Ariel two life debts.

That was frustrating.

“Get your shit together, Cap,” Robin said sharply, and Killian’s knees bent like they’d been commanded too. He sunk into the corner of the couch, Peggy back on his chest and Anna curled against him and Ariel was biting her lip.

Regina was on her phone again.

“We agreed we’d work up to this, Locksley,” Elsa mumbled, but Killian had no idea who was holding Will’s phone now and it kind of sounded like he was being spoken to from several different clouds and Robin shook his head.

“Yeah, I know, but then he asked why and I’m kind of throwing the schedule out the window.”  
  
“It’s too cold for that,” Anna muttered. “Please don’t actually open the windows.”  
  
“Metaphorically.”  
  
“Ah, well that’s fine then.”  
  
Robin hummed, not taking his eyes away from Killian and he’d never been on trial, but it felt a bit like that and it had before and time was a circle or something.

“If you have something say, Locksley, you should probably just say it,” Killian muttered. He ignored whatever his body was doing, every one of his muscles tight with tension and anxiety and it was too much, was far too much trouble and far too much pressure and Peggy was half standing on his right thigh.

“I’ve got several things I want to say,” Robin growled. “But none of them are appropriate in front of other people and I really don’t want to end up punching you.”  
  
Killian blinked. That hadn’t happened when he hurt his hand.

“Damn, Robin,” Anna muttered.

Robin crossed his arms, inhaling deeply enough that his shoulders shifted with the force of it and Killian didn’t argue when Will pulled Peggy away from him. He wanted to. He wanted to scream and shout and go through his own schedule of all the reasons losing this game were absolutely terrifying, but losing everything else was absolutely worse and Robin hadn’t even had to say anything.

That didn’t stop him.

“You’re a goddamn idiot, you know that?”

Killian nodded. “Yes.”

“Wait, what?”  
  
“Got you on that one, didn’t I?”  
  
“You don’t get to be funny right now, Cap, I’m pissed at you. And worried. And mostly pissed. Because we’ve done this! We’ve had this conversation before and Ariel’s agreed to a reenactment if you want, but I think that’s also kind of dumb.”  
  
“Hey,” Ariel snapped. “I only said I’d do it as a last resort. I really don’t want to bother Mr. and Mrs. V.”

“We’re very responsible with our interventions,” Will muttered, bobbing up and down and he might have been humming in Peggy’s ear.

“Although Mom and Dad really wouldn’t mind,” Elsa reasoned. “They’d probably feed you all in the process.”  
  
“We are professionals, El. You think we’re not capable of feeding ourselves?”  
  
“I really doubt my mom would care, honestly. What year is that t-shirt you’re wearing from?”  
  
“That’s not important.”  
  
Elsa laughed, a resounding judgment that probably resulted in several laws in Colorado. Killian glanced back at Robin, sleeves still bunched around his arms and his own judgements radiating off him. He lifted his eyebrows in challenge, waiting for the list of warranted complaints and opinions and--

“You’ve got kids, Cap,” Robin said softly, and that had never been part of the pitch before. Anna might have gasped. That might have been Ariel. Or Elsa. Will was definitely singing under his breath. “One of which, while you were being a goddamn idiot and getting more tests and absolutely terrifying your wife, was trying to imitate your goal celebration outside a bagel place on 77th.”  
  
“Remind me to actually send that guy my stick,” Will mumbled in between lyrics and faces and Peggy laughed while trying to wrap her fingers around the collar of his vaguely ancient t-shirt.

“I did that already,” Regina promised. “He was very appreciative. He probably has twenty-thousand likes on several different social media platforms.”  
  
“Do you actually know how likes work, Gina?” Ariel asked, a smile on her face that felt decidedly out of place.

The pillow pressing into Killian’s back wasn’t quite as comfortable anymore.

Regina shrugged.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked sharply, and Will made a dismissive noise.

“Your kid’s got one hell of a wrister. He totally wrecked that window.”  
  
“You wrecked the windows of a bagel place.”  
  
“Obviously, try and keep up, Cap. But the guy was a big fan and happy with the stick. Or the promise of a stick. I really don’t remember signing that, Gina.”  
  
“Well, that seems like a you problem, doesn’t it?” Regina asked, fingers flying over her phone. “Can we keep this moving though because I don’t want to deal with the league fallout if Killian shows up to this presser late.”  
  
“Or the Ruby Lucas fallout,” Ariel mumbled. Anna laughed.

“That too.”

The room seemed to freeze, Anna’s laugh lingering in the suddenly stale around them, and he could hear Elsa’s quiet breathing over the phone. Killian waited three more seconds before he moved, sitting up straighter and rolling his shoulders and Robin didn’t flinch when he met his gaze.

“You’ve got other opinions, Locksley?” Killian asked. “Or just elongated ones about my kids?”  
  
“The kids are kind of the crux of it, actually.”  
  
“Don’t let me stop you then.”  
  
“You weren’t ever going to,” he said, not an admission, but a promise and Killian wanted to practice his wrister. “You know Matt thinks you’re the greatest person in the history of several different worlds and universes?”  
  
“That was redundant, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Do not interrupt me, Cap. I swear to God I’ll punch you right in your bruised ribs.”

Ariel winced, but Robin was on a roll and Killian’s eyes were going to permanently stay halfway up his forehead. “I get why you didn’t say anything about the hit,” he said. “You’re you and you’re a stubborn idiot and everything that happened with Liam is...ah, shit, sorry Liam, I almost forgot you were here.”  
  
“Don’t apologize to me,” Liam said, the connection shaky and he kind of sounded like a robot in Colorado. “Killian’s a goddamn idiot. That’s not something you mess around with.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Killian sighed. That was another battle he was never going to win.

Robin’s lips twitched. “A fact we’re well aware of, Cap. And one your kid is well aware of. And Emma. Especially Emma. You know how worried she’s been about Casino Night? She forgot to get Mr. and Mrs. V tickets.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“They’re going to watch Matt and Pegs,” Anna shrugged. “They honestly are not offended.”  
  
“And possibly celestial beings,” Will added.

“Can I get back to my rampage, please?” Robin asked loudly, and Liam might have snickered. Elsa tried to turn her laugh into a cough.

“You’re the one getting distracted,” Killian pointed out. Robin’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“You’ve got kids, Cap. Kids who, despite what you may think, do not give a single, Scarlet cover Pegs ears or something.” Will did as instructed, flashing a grin Killian’s direction. He rolled his eyes. “They do not give a single fuck what you do on the ice right now,” Robin continued. “Matt wants to be you because that’s all he knows, but he’d think the same exact thing if you were a goddamn...I don’t know, what’s a ridiculous job?”  
  
“Bank teller,” Anna shouted.

“Oh, a dog walker,” Ariel added.

“Museum curator,” Elsa grinned. “But only on Museum Mile.”  
  
“He’d have to go crosstown to get there, though.”  
  
“Ah, yeah, that’s true. It’s so obnoxious to get cross town. God, imagine that commute in the morning. It’d be killer.”  
  
“Alright, that’s more than enough,” Robin muttered, and it sounded a bit like disciplining Henry and Roland and Killian bit his lip. “The point, Cap, is none of it matters.”  
  
Killian tilted his head, the argument practically bubbling out of him, but Robin didn’t even let him open his mouth before he waved an impatient hand in his face. “God, you know that’s not what I meant. Of course it matters. And we all want to win too. We want to win for Matt and you and this stupid city with its horrendous crosstown traffic. But you don’t get to play with your own health in order to do that. You’ve got kids who idolize you and a teenager who, on Saturday night, tried really hard not to let either Gina or I realize that he was crying because he was so scared something had happened to you.”  
  
“What?” Killian rasped. His throat felt very dry. He kept blinking. Liam had walked out of the phone frame in Colorado.

God, Elsa was crying again.

Robin nodded. “We got back from the window incident and promising merch we had no right to give away. And Mary Margaret was talking to Ruby. That’s how we found out about the hallway. I’ve never...Mary Margaret looked far too pale and Ruby kept shouting _no comment_ in her phone and they told us. Rol overheard because he’s clearly been taking supersonic hearing lessons from El and here we are.”  
  
“I resent that, Locksley,” Elsa yelled, but her voice shook on its way across the country.

“I think that just means you’re a superhero, El,” Will reasoned.

“Oh, I’ll take that then.”  
  
Killian’s throat was still doing something impossible, and they hadn’t even gotten to the _fine_ part of the intervention. He held his arms out expectantly, not trusting himself to actually demand back his daughter, but they might have all been superheroes because Will moved immediately.

They all spent way too much time together.

“Mary Margaret looked pale?” he asked, Robin’s nod barely that. It was closer to a grunt.

“She told Lucas it was bad. She’s...she’s worried about Emma because Emma is so goddamn worried about you. Constantly. And then you went and did this stupid thing and she’s forgetting tickets and feeling guilty and--”  
  
“--None of this is her fault.”  
  
“You tell her that?”  
  
Killian didn’t answer. That was an answer.

“That’s the worst thing you’ve done yet, Cap,” Robin sighed, rocking back on his heels. “And I know how much your fine is for.”

“We ever going to talk about that? Because I really don’t want Lucas to yell at me for being late to this presser.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get there, but I’ve got one more point to make.” He took a deep breath, huffing it out like he’d been waiting for this moment or practicing for it, and Liam was pacing behind the couch in Colorado. Elsa had crossed her legs, elbows digging into her knees with her chin in her hands and Anna was identical a few inches away from Killian.

Will was back on the arm of the couch, Ariel’s head resting on the side of his thigh and tears obvious in her eyes.

And Killian was the world’s biggest idiot.

“It matters, Cap,” Robin said. “All of it. The career and the control and it’s been your team for years. We tried to tell you that wouldn’t change and it might have been a lie. Or, at least, wishful thinking. We can’t stop this guy or his ridiculously quick passes and Rook’s shit at trying to screen the goalie.”  
  
Will coughed pointedly, and Robin rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point,” he continued. “The point is we get it. We wouldn’t want to walk either, but this is your life, Cap and it’s pretty fucking great. Even without the game. You’ve got people you’ve got to think about. People who...write e-mails to Liam because they don’t want to scandalize your delicate sensibilities with unplanned speeches--”  
  
“--Oh my God,” Will grumbled. Ariel muttered several promises that _it’s fine, Scarlet_ under her breath.

“Anyway,” Robin said pointedly. “This isn’t just about you, Cap. It might have been the last time, but this is...you’ve kids and a family and people who would beat up any asshole replacement without you even having to ask. And if you don’t show up in Emma’s office at some point before Casino Night promising several different worlds, I’ll tell Arthur he should suspend you for the entire first month of next season.”

“Seconded,” Anna and Will said at the same time.

Killian lifted his eyebrows even more. “You don’t know it’ll be next season.”  
  
“Please,” Robin scoffed. “Yes, I do. And I think you do too. You know who doesn’t? Emma.”

“It was bad, Cap,” Ariel whispered, tears on her cheeks and a quiver in her voice. “Victor said it might not...next season wasn’t certain and it was like...I don’t know. I could see it. She’d been trying to keep it together with Mattie and us and then it was like it all clicked and she was…”  
  
“Terrified,” Will finished harshly. “She’s been terrified, Killian.”

He swallowed, his own name sounding impossibly loud when it echoed between his ears. “A one-woman Emma Swan protection squad.”  
  
“I heard about A’s zamboni-murder threat, Cap. I could support that.”  
  
“The name thing didn’t last long.”  
  
“Yeah, it felt weird saying it, honestly.”  
  
Killian hummed, arms wrapped almost possessively around the baby in his arms and the whole thing was a goddamn disaster. He might have been a goddamn disaster.

He still had to answer questions.

Lots of questions.

“How big is the fine, Gina?” Killian asked, and if this were a normal conversation he would have appreciated her slight jump when he turned towards her.

“Not great.”  
  
“That’s not specific.”  
  
“Not great,” she repeated. “If you weren’t broken, you’d be suspended for two games. At least.”  
  
“Husinger wasn’t.”  
  
Regina glared at him. “That’s because you started punching him. There was video. The league’s already hiding from reporters wanting to know how no one caught your concussion before you passed on the ice. Remember when you passed out on the ice?”  
  
“Yes, Gina, I was there.”  
  
“I just wanted to make sure you remembered that it happened. When you passed out on the ice. On national TV. And Husinger got fined. Which is a blow to a kid still working on his AHL deal.”  
  
“But no suspension?”  
  
“No,” Regina said. “Because, as I said, you punched him first. So the league opted to leave it up to front office and front office desperately wants to win. No suspension. A stern talking to, a piece of duct tape over his mouth when it comes to the media, and that’s it.”  
  
Killian nodded, another string of words getting caught in his throat and the guilt in his stomach was decidedly uncomfortable.

“You ever go out on your date?” Liam asked pointedly, ignoring both Elsa and Anna when they checked their tongues simultaneously. It sounded like Mrs. Vankald.  
  
Killian didn’t mention that either.

“That’s a no, leader,” Will answered, standing back up and taking Peggy out of Killian’s arms. “And you’re going to be late, Cap. You think he should put on a tie, Gina?”  
  
Regina shook her head. “Team-branded.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, that makes more sense.”

“Can I have my kid back now?” Killian asked, but the entire room rolled its eyes in response and that was almost impressive.

“Did we not mention that?” Anna asked. He shook his head. “We’re taking her.”  
  
“Phrase that differently, Anna,” Elsa mumbled.

Killian stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So the kidnapping threat was real, huh?”  
  
“No, no,” Anna promised. “Well...no, this is not kidnapping. You can’t bring a baby to a presser with you, KJ. So Scarlet and I are taking her and we’ll go pick up Matt and then we’re going to do something educational.”  
  
“It’s the library, Cap,” Will added. “We’re going to meet Belle at the library.”

Anna nodded, grinning like that settled _that._ It did. “Go get changed, KJ. Ruby will rip you apart if you mess up her presser.”

He did not, in fact, mess up the presser.

He showed up five minutes early, grinning at Ruby’s slightly stunned expression and stood at the podium and answered the questions and he was sure every single reporter gasped when he answered honestly.

Completely and totally.

The internet was going to lose its mind.

Again.

“How was that Lucas?” Killian asked, directing her out of the media room at the Garden and back towards a hallway he’d absolutely made out in before.

She shook her head slowly, something that felt like disbelief and awe rolling off her and Killian felt more _normal_ than he had in months. “I can’t believe you did that, Cap,” she breathed.

“Can you not?”  
  
“Ah, I mean, I guess, but that’s…” Ruby exhaled, blinking and tugging her lips back behind her teeth. “Did she tell you about the job yet?”  
  
“Yeah. She deserves that.”  
  
“Of course she does. I’m not disagreeing with that, but that’s…”  
  
“You’ve got to finish a sentence, Lucas.”  
  
“Why would I do that when you’re suddenly so good at making proclamations on the record.”

Killian chuckled, resting his hands on her shoulders and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Professional,” he muttered. “And it wasn’t a proclamation. It was an answer. A real one. And Emma should be able to do whatever she wants. She’d make hockey the most popular sport in the entire goddamn world.”  
  
“Not disagreeing with that either.”  
  
“You’ve got to make your point then, Lucas, because…”  
  
He trailed off, eyes flitting towards the end of the hallway like Emma would suddenly appear there and he hadn’t been sure what her afternoon was like, was certain there were more meetings and probably placating Aurora for something, but he kind of _hoped_ and he’d answered all the questions anyway.

“Take some of your own advice, Cap,” Ruby suggested, rapping her knuckles against his chest. “And go upstairs. Like two seconds ago.”  
  
He resisted the urge to salute, squeezing her shoulders and winking horribly enough that her laugh hung in the air when he jogged down the hallway.

And it might have been the longest elevator ride of Killian’s life, tapping an impatient rhythm on his thigh as he waited for the ding and the right floor and he flat out ran down the next hallway he was presented with.

She was sitting on the floor.

It was almost difficult to see her over all the stacks of paper around her, but he saw her hair, tugged up in a ponytail, but she’d missed one piece, a strand clinging to her neck like it was there specifically to taunt him.

David was a few feet away from her, leaning back on his hands with a smile on his face and his phone thrown haphazardly between them.

They were talking, but the words didn’t entirely register and it was a miracle he stayed upright.

Killian froze, half a foot over the threshold and mouth hanging open and he never really _forgot_ he loved her, but sometimes he’d glance at Emma or watch her try and explain offsides to Matt or blow raspberries on Peggy’s cheek and it was like everything realigned and focused and it was difficult to remember a world that she wasn’t at center of.

Emma wiped her thumb under her eye.

And that did it.

“Swan,” he said softly, Emma’s body twisting quickly and she almost knocked over a stack of papers. His smile felt far too nervous, but it was there and her eyes were slightly red and maybe it was time to stage his own intervention.

“Hey,” she muttered. “You’re...I thought you’d still be downstairs.”  
  
“I wanted to be here before the presser, but, uh, some stuff happened and I’m--”  
  
“--Here now.”  
  
Killian nodded. “You have a couple minutes to talk, Swan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll find out what Killian said, promise. And Emma's got her own intervention coming too. Thanks as always for clicking and reading. Y'all are the best. 
> 
> Feel free to come hang out on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if your'e so inclined.


	9. Chapter 9

“You’ve been ignoring my calls again.”  
  
Emma tried not to sigh, she did, but the noise seemed to fall out of her and Merida winced from the doorway. “That’s not true, Tink,” she mumbled. It was an awful lie. The words felt like they were rotting her tongue or something far less disgusting.

God, that was an awful thought.

That had kind of been the trend for the last seventy-two hours though and Emma was, totally, ignoring the four messages Tink had left Merida in those same seventy-two hours and that just seemed like a kind of aggressive sell.

She was supposed to have until the end of the month.

She didn’t have to worry about this yet.

Not when she had so much else to worry about.

Maybe she shouldn’t have let Killian watch Peggy before his presser that afternoon. His ribs were still kind of bruised when she’d changed the ACE bandage that morning and Ariel’s expression had been nothing short of incredulous when Emma asked, _demanded_ , to learn how to do it.

She figured it wasn’t much more than twisting and turning, but those twists and turns were unexpectedly difficult and that was kind of a trend too.

Emma wished her goddamn mind would shut up.

And she knew Killian wanted to watch Peggy for the same reasons Emma had taken Peggy out of daycare that one day and she couldn’t really argue when he started making faces at her, letting her fingers grip his and tug on the front of his shirt and he was supposed to bring her to the Garden before the presser anyway.

It was fine.

It was all fine.

It was...hopefully fine.

_The rest of the season and maybe more_.

Emma couldn’t breathe.

“Boss,” Merida muttered, nodding towards the phone Emma was still, somehow, holding and Tink was still, somehow, talking. Emma wasn’t entirely sure how she was still standing. Her whole body felt heavy and exhausted and Aurora had apologized for the _banner incident_ , but she had no fewer than eight-thousand questions about Phillip’s ceremony the next night and it really was not that complex.

It shouldn’t have been that complex.

Emma needed to sit in a dark room with absolutely no noise and no hockey and no errant thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.

She didn’t have time.

Tink was still babbling in her ear.

“You might want to at least acknowledge that you’re still on the phone,” Merida suggested, taking a step into the office and there was no longer enough room for two people. “Here,” she added, dropping a plastic container on the few inches of desk left and Emma couldn’t quite believe she flinched at, what she assumed, was a salad from Prep.

“What is this?” she asked softly, doing her best not to talk into the phone. Tink wasn’t babbling anymore. She was rambling. Loudly.

Emma was supposed to have until the end of the month.

_Fine fine fine fine fine._

“It’s food, boss,” Merida grinned. She shook her hair off her shoulders, the bags under her eyes visible and they just had to get through the rest of the week. Phillip’s ceremony would last fifteen minutes, _tops_ , he and Aurora would stand on the ice and they still needed to get his dad a jersey, but he wasn’t getting into the city until later that night and there was, apparently, some kind of ridiculous snow storm in Québec City so that was another thing. There was a list for all of it somewhere.

Probably under the salad.

“Did we ever find out if Rook’s mom was coming to this?” Emma whispered, and Tink hadn’t taken a breath in years. That couldn’t have been healthy.

Merida shook her head. “Aurora said she was trying to get in touch, but it keeps going to voicemail.”  
  
“And we’ve got no other way to contact this woman? Where does she even live?”   
  
“Phillip said Montréal. Maybe.”   
  
“Maybe?”

Merida’s eyes widened in warning when Emma’s voice hitched and Tink stopped talking rather abruptly. Emma winced. “Am I interrupting you, Emma?” Tink asked, and Emma bit back her immediate _yes, constantly_ because she hadn’t been lying before.

She kind of wanted this job.

Or thought she could want this job. Or, at least, consider the possibility of this job.

But then she thought about the travel and what might happen if –  _when_ – Killian came back next season and she’d waited so long for all of this, was so goddamn happy when things weren’t so goddamn stressful and even, sometimes, when they were and Merida kept trying to force feed her slightly shitty salads that weren’t as good when she wasn’t pregnant.

And Emma knew it was because Killian kept texting her to remind her.

She didn’t really want to go to the presser later. She didn’t want to cry in public like that. That would have been embarrassing.

“Emma,” Tink said lightly, but there was an edge there that made it almost too obvious that the _end of the month_ wasn’t quite as honest as it probably should have been.

“I’m here,” Emma promised, rolling her eyes when Merida snickered under her breath. “And I haven’t really been ignoring your calls. I’ve just been incredibly busy.”  
  
“Dealing with injuries?”   
  
Emma inhaled, teeth digging into her lower lip. Merida’s eyes looked like they were going to fall out of her head. “No,” Emma said. “And, quite frankly, that’s not any of your business.”   
  
Merida’s face was going to get stuck like that.

Emma waved an impatient hand through the air, nearly knocking over the half-finished travel mug of coffee she’d brought with her that morning. Merida didn’t move. Her mouth didn’t close either, just kept hanging open with a look that was stuck somewhere between stunned and impressed and they needed to track down Phillip’s mother.

She couldn’t just show on the ice the next night.

That’d ruin the entire ceremony and Aurora would never let Emma hear the end of it.

“Professional,” Merida mumbled, perching on the edge of Emma’s desk and her hair nearly brushed over the travel mug.

Emma really needed to move that.

She shrugged, twisting her lips and trying not to laugh like an absolutely crazy person because she was almost entirely convinced that’s what she was at this point and she was more or less waiting for Zelena to arrive at any moment and demand another meeting.

“Phillip really doesn’t know where his mom is?” Emma asked softly, leaning away from the phone like that would make sure her voice didn’t carry. Merida shook her head. “How is that possible? Where is he even?”  
  
“I think Ruby has him answering questions for several different features so we can try and distract from--”   
  
She cut herself off, the muscles in her throat moving when she swallowed down the words and Emma’s heart promptly fell out of her body, landed on her covered-with-paperwork rug and immediate shattered into several thousand pieces.

At least.

She wished she’d brought Peggy with her to work.

She wished Killian had brought Peggy to work. And talked to her. Preferably before he beat up some AHL asshole who didn’t even get suspended.

“He got fined,” Merida said, like that made a difference and Emma wasn’t aware that Killian was going to get fined too. Or maybe already had. She hadn’t really talked to Regina. She was too busy tracking down Phillip’s relatives.

Emma didn’t make a noise, just kept twisting her lips and nodding until she almost fell into a rhythm. Merida’s expression shifted, a little softer and a bit more understanding and she’d probably fly to Montréal to find Phillip’s mom sooner rather than later.

Maybe after she made sure Emma ate the salad from Pret.

“Actually,” Tink said archly, and Emma had almost forgotten she was still on the phone. She was becoming a professional in ignoring. That probably wasn’t a talent she could put on her résumé. The league wouldn’t appreciate that. “That’s something that’s exactly my business.”  
  
Emma’s eyes flashed to Merida, a wry smile on her face as she pushed a plastic fork towards her. “How do you figure?”

“If he wasn’t hurt he’d likely have been suspended for several games, you know that, right?”  
  
“Obviously.”   
  
“And the fine will be fairly sizable. We can’t afford to have a name like that attacking teammates.”   
  
“Ok, you know that’s not even remotely what it was.”   
  
“Was it not?” Tink countered. “From all accounts, Husinger simply expressed his opinion in the newspaper.”   
  
“He said he was glad that Killian got hurt,” Emma yelled, and there went the travel mug. She gritted her teeth, jumping up and squeezing her eyes shut as Merida mumbled promises that it would _be fine_ , but those very specific words had lost all meaning in the last few weeks and Emma was worried she was going to snap her phone in half.

Or do permanent damage to her hand.

“That’s not what he said, Emma, and you know it,” Tink said. Her voice had leveled out again, a picture of professionalism from Toronto and maybe she knew where Phillip’s mom was and if she was planning on coming to the Garden on Wednesday night and if she had a jersey or not.

They all had to wear jerseys.

Zelena had been adamant about that.

“I really don’t care,” Emma muttered. She knew it was petty. She knew it was immature. She knew it was goddamn unprofessional and she _wanted_ this job, but she couldn’t get those few sentences out of her brain or her mind and she really did not want to go to this presser.

Merida smiled at her, ducking into her eye line because she’d never sat back down, but she wasn’t really staying still either. Matt probably got that from her.

“I’ll ask Phillip about his mom again,” Merida promised. “And talk to Aurora.”  
  
Emma shook her head, but she’d seen _that_ look before and she was fighting a very noble and losing battle. “You don’t have to do that,” she mumbled, ignoring Tink’s return to babble.

They hadn’t cleaned up the coffee yet.

It was staining the carpet. And several stacks of papers.

“Aurora definitely knows,” Merida shrugged. “She’s just been worried about the ice--”

“--The ice?”  
  
“She doesn’t really have good balance. I guess she’s worried about falling over and ruining the ceremony or something.”   
  
“She realizes that there’ll be carpet, right? She doesn’t actually have to step on the ice?”   
  
“I really don’t think she knows that, no. And if she does, then I don’t think she cares. But she’s mentioned it, like, sixteen times and sent an e-mail about it.”   
  
“Did I get that?”

Merida flushed, making it difficult to see where her hair stopped and her face started and Emma’s laugh bubbled out of her. Tink sighed in her ear. “I will answer you in a second, Tink, honestly,” Emma said, but the guarantee was still a bit of a lie and she needed to ask Ruby for links to those stories about Phillip. They could send them to season tickets.

That’d be another good distraction.

For her and the season tickets.

“Mer,” Emma said, dragging out the name until it felt a bit like an accusation. The flush get deeper. Redder. She wasn’t going to be specific about the adjectives. “Are you filtering my e-mails? Is that what’s going on?”  
  
“Not in, like, a menacing way,” Merida muttered.

“Is there a menacing way to do that?”  
  
“I mean, probably.”   
  
“So how are you doing it then?”   
  
“In a way that I know you’re stressed and ignoring…” She nodded towards the phone, and, that time, it was Emma’s turn to flush. She chewed on her lip. “That,” Merida continued. “And everything that’s been going on with Cap and Phillip’s disappearing mother and how insanely annoying Aurora’s been about all of this and, well, it might be a great job, but…”   
  
“But?” Emma pressed. She put the phone down on her desk, ignoring the way Merida’s eyebrows jumped.

It took a moment for Merida to answer, but once the words started they never seemed to stop and Emma wondered how long she’d been holding it all in.

Probably two weeks and three days.

Emma was a little worried about the state of her heart. It might have still been sitting on the floor.

“But,” Merida repeated. “This is your team as much as it is Cap’s and I know how much this whole thing has messed with your head and you’ve been working your ass off for Casino Night and some ridiculous points ceremony that Phillip doesn’t even want because the spotlight freaks him out and he only agreed to all those features so it’d distract from everything else and probably because Rubes threatened him.”  
  
“She didn’t have to do that.”   
  
“Aw, c’mon, boss, don’t be that dense. Of course she did. This whole roster would do it. In a heartbeat or an instant or whatever the shortest measure of time is.”   
  
“Instant probably works.”   
  
“Then that,” Merida smiled. “And I know it’s the whole league and you’d still be in New York, but…” She sighed, huffing out air that felt especially thick and Emma was crying in public again. Kind of. She wasn’t sure what her office counted as. “It’s your team too, boss,” she repeated.

Emma’s heart thumped painfully in her chest.

She wasn’t sure when it got back there, but the specifics weren’t important and she picked up the phone. She could almost _hear_ Tink’s frustration.

Which, honestly, was pretty impressive since she’d never seen Tink in person.

“I don’t have an answer for you right now, Tink,” Emma said, trying to keep the _professional_ in her voice. Merida nodded encouragingly. “You told me that I had until the end of the month and you’re right. There’s some stuff going on here that I didn’t entirely expect and am dealing with, so if you’ve given me a deadline then I think it’s only fair you stick to that.”

Tink hummed, displeasure obvious in the sound and that was only kind of obnoxious. Emma’s head jerked up when she heard footsteps moving towards her office, willing it _not_ be Zelena or, God help her, Aurora.

Unless she knew where Phillip’s goddamn mother was.

It wasn’t either of them.

And she didn’t expect to see David standing in her open doorway, two bags of food in his hands and the fluorescent light of the hallway glinting off the badge on his hip.

Merida practically beamed.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked. Tink might have growled at her.

He shrugged and grinned, taking a cautious step into the room and she was immediately hit with the distinct smell of grease and processed cheese and he was playing dirty. “Was in the neighborhood,” David said. “How do you move in here without killing yourself?”  
  
“It’s a very specific type of dance.”   
  
“Let the record show I’m not going to make a comment on that because I know you’re absurdly stressed out. And also not eating. So I’m going to go ahead and believe that’s the reason for whatever your face is doing.”

“My face is fine.”  
  
“You should probably tell that to your face.”

Merida laughed again, pulling her lips behind her teeth to stop herself and Emma rolled her eyes. She wasn’t done with Tink.

“Still there?” she asked.

“The whole time,” Tink hissed.

Emma took a deep breath through her teeth, pulling in the air slowly like she was worried anything more would do damage to her lungs. “Of course,” she said. “You gave me the end of the month to think about it. I’ve still got a job to do here with this team, you have to understand that, don’t you?”  
  
“Of course.”   
  
“Then I think it’s only fair we stick to the deadline. I don’t think you want me making this choice without actually thinking about it, do you?”   
  
“Oh that was good,” David mumbled, finding a spot on the floor and sitting cross-legged as he pulled out far too many wax-paper-covered cheeseburgers and what appeared to be three milkshakes. “I couldn’t not get one for Mer,” he explained. “God, who do you think I am, Em?”

Emma nodded, smile tugging at the ends of her mouth and some her anger disappearing and Tink had said something.

“Of course I don’t,” Tink responded, answering a question Emma almost forgot she’d asked. “I want you to want this job, Emma. The league wants you to want this job. But if we’re second on your list, then, frankly, that won’t be good enough.”  
  
“That’s not what I said.”   
  
“Then it won’t be hard to tell me which way you’re leaning. There are other names and other people who’d check each other to get this position.”   
  
“Did you just make a hockey joke out of this?”   
  
“Occupational hazard.”   
  
Emma scoffed. She was never going to eat that salad from Pret. Merida wouldn’t mind. It looked like they’d put avocado on it anyway.   
  
“Of course,” Emma said. “Listen. I have no idea. And I don’t know that I’ll have an idea before the end of the month. Or, at least, until after I get through today and tomorrow and Casino Night. I’ve got a team to worry about still, Tink, and it’s...well, it’s my team and my home and I’m not going to stop that. Even with an incredible job opportunity. So either you can accept my indecisiveness right now or you can keep getting your calls ignored because my assistant is trying to preserve my mental stability.”

It was supposed to be a joke, so she appreciated the laugh she got from Toronto, but Emma’s chest still felt tight and her heart wasn’t beating regularly and she hoped David didn’t want any of those cheese fries because she was going to eat all of them.

Shake Shack cheese fries almost made her care less about onion rings.

They were probably magical.

Or incredibly fried.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Tink said. “I’d rather not be at fault for ruining your mental stability.”  
  
“A fact I really do appreciate.”

“It’s got to be the end of the month, Emma. They want to make a move. They want you, but they won’t wait.”  
  
“I’ll be honest and tell you that this eponymous they is kind of freaking me out.”   
  
“Yeah, well, welcome to the league offices, I suppose.”

“Are they always this menacing?”  
  
“Constantly,” Tink admitted. “I hope your husband’s press conference goes well today. I know New York media can be ruthless.”   
  
Emma nodded, leaning forward to grab a fry when David offered her the container and he grinned at whatever face she made. “We’re kind of used to that now, actually,” she muttered. “Face of the team or something.”   
  
“Face of the league, actually. You might want to remind him of that before he starts punching AHL kids with absurd egos at practice again.”   
  
“Noted.”   
  
“The end of the month, Emma.”

Tink hung up before she could answer – a habit that was only slightly annoying and Emma had to try and make sure she didn’t get processed cheese under her nails. David was still sitting on her floor. “Mer, I’m probably not going to eat this salad,” Emma admitted, working another laugh out of her and a bigger smile out of David and he’d totally blown off his lunch hour.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that,” Merida muttered, grabbing the plastic container and dumping it unceremoniously in the garbage. “They totally fucked up the avocados anyway.”  
  
“How do they keep doing that?”   
  
“Pret is the worst.”   
  
“A very quick judgment,” David mumbled through a bite of cheeseburger. Emma gaped at him.

“You couldn’t wait two seconds?”  
  
“You were on the phone and glaring at open air and I’m starving. I’m here to feed you and also check on your mental stability or whatever you told whoever you were talking to, but I’m not going to miss out on Shake Shack either.”   
  
“Did you actually go to Shake Shack?”   
  
“Was that not obvious?”   
  
“The one on 42nd?”   
  
David shook his head. “The one on Broadway. God, Emma, be more aware of your closest Shake Shack.”   
  
“I’ve had some other things on my mind, you know. I just yelled at a very important league worker about those things.”   
  
“Eh,” Merida countered. “It wasn’t really yelling. It was, like, a very specific type of discussion. Forceful, sure. But certainly not yelling. Your voice didn’t get any louder.”   
  
“That’s true,” David agreed. “Totally monotone.”   
  
“Is that a good thing?” Emma asked.

“Probably not. Why do you think I brought the Shake Shack?”  
  
“There’s really a Shake Shack on Broadway”   
  
“For, like, at least a year,” David said, amusement flashing in his eyes and Emma didn’t know if she appreciated that or not. She ate more french fries.

“No way, really?" David nodded, wide-eyed and smiling. Merida laughed behind her hand. “There’s no reason to be rude about it. I don’t really go that far east.”  
  
“It’s a block away, Em.” She groaned, an objection without voicing it and he must have rearranged his lunch hour. “You just going to stay up there or you going to come hang out on the floor where, clearly, the cooler people are?”

“It’s just you down there.”  
  
“I don’t think I need to repeat myself.”

“You’re far too certain of your own coolness,” Emma muttered, but she pushed out of her chair and moved several piles of papers, resting her chin on her tugged-up knees. David did something ridiculous with his eyebrows, a pretty God awful attempt to imitate Killian that he didn’t even try to mask.

“See if I tell you about the cookies Mary Margaret made that are possibly in the bag behind you.”  
  
“Possibly? And I think you just did.”   
  
“It’s all part of my interrogation technique. Lull you into a false sense of security.”   
  
“And then do what, exactly?”   
  
“Make sure you’re ok,” David said easily, but there was a note of sincerity in his voice that made Emma blink a few times and Merida was suspiciously quiet. She’d cleaned up the coffee without Emma noticing.

And probably took her phone.

She hoped she took her phone.

“I’ll tell Rubes to find you later, boss,” Merida announced, grabbing the travel mug like she was going to go wash it or something equally absurd. That was absolutely what she was going to do. Emma tried not to cry on her office floor.

It didn’t really work.

“I can do that,” she argued, but Merida was already shaking her head and David was trying to force a cheeseburger into Emma’s hand. “God, how many of these did you order?”  
  
“Too many, honestly,” he admitted. “I think the lady behind the counter thought I was nuts when I went to pick them up.”   
  
“You ordered ahead at Shake Shack? Can you do that or did you badge-flash?”   
  
“First of all, it’s weird that you used that as a verb. And second of all, obviously or this wouldn’t have been possible. I really don’t have time to stand in line all day.”   
  
“But you’ve got time for whatever this is?”

“A quest, Em, obviously.”  
  
“Oh, obviously,” she grumbled, Merida trying to walk out the door without anyone noticing. “Hey,” Emma called. “You really don’t have to find Rubes later. I can do it. But maybe we can track down Phillip’s parents and tell Aurora not to worry about falling over? Or get her to practice after the walk-through finishes today.”   
  
“There’s no walk-through,” Merida said quickly, breath catching when she realized what she said. Emma blinked.

“What? Why not? We are playing a game tomorrow, right?”  
  
“It’d make that ceremony really difficult otherwise.”   
  
“So why no walk-through? Arthur couldn’t have been happy about that.”   
  
Merida wavered, rocking back and forth slightly and she kind of looked like Peggy working to keep her balance. She hadn’t weebled in days. Emma hoped that wasn’t a sign. And knew that wasn’t a verb.

“Mer,” David cautioned, but he snapped his mouth shut when Emma turned on him. He was still holding a goddamn cheeseburger.   
“Don’t try and turn me to stone, Em, you’re not as good as Regina is at that.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m not entirely sure Regina isn’t magical, so that doesn’t count at all.”

Merida froze, meeting Emma’s gaze when she jerked back around and lifted her eyebrows, not bothering to ask the question. “I don’t think you’re the only one getting quest’ed, boss,” she whispered. “Although David’s kind of more impressive, since he’s working on his own.”  
  
“Mary Margaret’s still in school,” David reasoned.

“And Ruby mentioned she’d try and get here before the presser, but she thinks Cap is going to be late, so…”  
  
“Why would Killian be late?” Emma asked sharply.

“Was that not obvious? I thought you’d get there without needing more context clues.”  
  
Emma rolled her eyes. “I don’t, really. But I just...God, you guys are all stupid, you know that? Without any concept of proper relationship lines.”

She wished she’d gotten more venom in her insult, but it wasn’t really an insult and both David and Merida knew it. And Mary Margaret couldn't leave school early again.

Emma would have been legitimately pissed off about that.

“Yeah, well, none of us really got that memo,” David muttered. “And we’re all trying real hard to be the most worried. We’re pretty sure we’ll get a medal or something.”  
  
“We’ve done the medal thing already.”   
  
“That was funny!”   
  
“Not lost all my humor quite yet,” Emma said. David sighed. “Did you guys bet on it? Whatever the plan was?”   
  
“Quest, Em. We did this. It’s a quest and it’s meaningful.”   
  
“Didn’t answer my question, Sergeant.”   
  
David opened his mouth, only to close it just as quickly and Emma grinned like _she’d_ won something. “You don’t know that yet. And don’t tell Mary Margaret, I think she’s trying to get me to agree to some party at the restaurant when the test results come in.”   
  
“Then that ship has sailed already. If she’s trying to get you to agree, then she’s in the late stages of planning. You just have to show up.”   
  
“I have to pass the exam.”   
  
“You already did,” Emma guaranteed, and David stared at the half-finished burger in his left hand. “So stop being stupid about it.”   
  
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled. “Don't forget your milkshake, Mer,” he added. “I got whatever the special shake was from this location.”

“Pie oh My,” Merida grinned. “There’s like...actual blueberries in there.”  
  
Emma didn’t know who to look at. Or gape at. She’d eaten far too many French fries already. “Wait, did you know that there was a Shake Shack on Broadway? What the hell have we been doing for the last six years?”   
  
“It hasn’t been there for six years, boss. And, mostly, Cap keeps harping on the salad thing, so it’s really his fault.” Merida grabbed the shake from David, smile still bright and shoulders as _not_ tense as Emma had seen them in weeks. “Have fun intervening, David. I’ll find you when I know where Phillip’s mom is, boss.”   
  
Merida was gone in a flash of red hair and loose shoulders and Emma’s shake was chocolate. She’d definitely taken her phone.

Emma turned back towards David slowly, lips pressed together and he met her with a far too knowing grin. “I’m still not using the word intervention,” he promised. “It’s really a quest for your happiness.”  
  
“That kind of sounds worse. I’m not unhappy.”   
  
“But worried.”   
  
“Yeah,” Emma admitted, appreciating his quick blink when she agreed so quickly. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”   
  
“Not really, no.”   
  
“Keeping you on your toes.” She, finally, grabbed one of the cheeseburgers in the bag and there were chicken sandwiches in there as well. That did something absurd to her heart, a fact that could _not_ be healthy since her heart had been going through several different and rather aggressive wringers in the last few weeks.

“I’d rather we stay still for a few minutes, honestly,” David muttered. “The whole point of this was to try and calm you down.”  
  
“I don’t need to be calmed down.”   
  
“Yeah? You get your blood pressure checked, recently? What’s the deal with Phillip’s mom?”   
  
“If I tell you that she’s disappeared you’re going to think I’m insane.”

David shook his head, a contradictory sound in the back of his throat. “Nah, not insane. Clearly exhausted, but not insane.”  
  
“God, you have so many opinions. It’s rude.”   
  
“Do you not actually want this job?”   
  
Emma dropped her cheeseburger on her knee. She hoped she didn’t burn her leg. “What?” she snapped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what those words mean in that very specific order, Emma.”  
  
“Ok, do not _dad_ me,” she growled. David didn’t blink. He didn’t smile either, but he didn’t blink, just kept staring at her like he was waiting for that very specific reaction.

And Emma knew he was.

She groaned, rolling her head between her shoulders until it almost felt loose and she needed to get downstairs. She didn’t want to go downstairs.

She was the world’s biggest coward.

“I’m not dad’ing you,” David sighed, sounding like _those_ words in _that_ specific order pained him. Emma glared. “I’m friend’ing you. God, can we stop whatever this is? I hate it.”   
  
“Did you take your whole lunch off for this?”   
  
“Nah, I took several hours off for this on the chance that you did want to avoid Killian’s presser as much as I know you do.”   
  
“That’s presumptuous.”   
  
“We’ll circle back around to the friendship thing in a second. Now, c’mon, I’m serious about this job. Do you not actually want to do it? Is that why you’ve been avoiding it?”   
  
“You shouldn’t even know this job exists,” Emma challenged, and David had the good sense to look almost ashamed.

“And you should know that Mary Margaret is very bad at keeping secrets. Particularly when they concern that pesky mental well-being of yours. You’re also doing a pretty God awful job of trying to deflect around this. We can get Rubes up here to rehash media training if that’d help.”  
  
“I’m not the one with a season-ending presser in fifteen minutes.”   
  
“No, you’re the one avoiding it. And the job offer.”

Emma’s whole body sagged with the force of her sigh, but David had always been good at precisely this thing and listening to her and resolutely refusing to let her ignore anything. Even if, sometimes, his timing was a little terrible.

She’d eaten all the French fries.

That couldn’t have been healthy.

“That’s not what it is, really,” Emma muttered. “The avoiding the questions or the job offer. I...I told Killian I might want it, but it’s not that simple.”  
  
“Why not?”   
  
“You have eighty-two days off to spare so I can go down the list?”   
  
“Not really.”   
  
“Yeah, I figured,” Emma chuckled. She exhaled, a burst of feeling she wished would just leave her alone at this point. “It’s not that simple,” she repeated. “We’ve got kids and his head and I mean...it’s my team too, isn’t it?”

David nodded. “Of course it is. You tell him that?”  
  
“When have I had time?”   
  
“That’s a garbage answer, Emma and you know it. What are you so scared of?”

She blinked, head tilted and anger rushing through her quick enough it nearly stole all the oxygen in the room. David still didn’t move, staring straight at her with an expectant look on his face and they’d known each other far too long.

That felt like cheating.

“Is everything an acceptable answer?” Emma asked softly, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

David moved.

And the plans for the silent auction were sacrificed to the cause, toppled over in a mess Emma was only slightly concerned about, but that disappeared as soon as David’s arms wrapped around her and she started crying into his shoulder again.

“You know, between me and Mattie, I’m not sure who’s doing more damage to your clothing,” Emma mumbled, mouth brushing against his precinct-required button-up. “God, you’re going to have to go home and change.”  
  
“Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ve got hours, Em. I planned for this.”   
  
“Another crying jag?”   
  
“Two in the last few days isn’t really that bad of a proportion.”   
  
“Is that the right word?”   
  
“I honestly have no idea. Math was never my strong suit.”

She let out a watery laugh, sniffling and not objecting when David brushed the tears off her cheeks. “Change is not really my thing,” Emma admitted, working a slightly strangled noise out of David. “And I know...God, I hope this isn’t it. It shouldn’t be. Not like this. Not on our own terms. That’s not fair.”  
  
“It’s not,” David agreed. “But the world doesn’t always agree with that.”   
  
“Yeah, well, the world can suck it.”

He nearly cackled, head thrown back and eyes closed lightly and Emma leaned into the kiss when he brushed it over her hair. “That’s the Emma Swan attitude I’ve been waiting for,” David mumbled. “You’ve got to fight back, Em.”  
  
“We tried that already and it ended in a very large fine that even Regina wouldn’t go into detail about because she’s scared of my reaction.”   
  
“If you’ve got Regina worried about your reaction, then you’ve clearly reached another plane of emotions. That’s almost impressive, if not a little terrifying.”   
  
Emma leaned against him, smiling into fabric and he’d never taken his shoulder holster off. He’d probably terrified the security guard downstairs. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment.”   
  
“Totally was,” David said. “And Killian wasn’t fighting back for just himself. Also you used _we_ without thinking about it.”   
  
“The opinions never cease, do they?”

David shrugged, taking an over exaggerated bite of cheeseburger and it shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. “He shouldn’t have done it. Obviously. But I kind of get why he did and I get why you’re mad. The whole thing sucks and makes sense and, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you should take the job.”  
  
“No?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Why not?” Emma pressed, voice turning a little desperate. That was disappointing. David handed her another container of French fries.

“You’ve got to figure that out, Emma. My opinions are only that. It’s your life and your choice and your team.”  
  
“That was heavy handed.”   
  
“I’m not as good at the hope speeches as Mary Margaret is.”

Emma laughed, but she was still, inexplicably, smiling and eating French fries and it wasn’t the worst intervention. As those things went. “That’s not true,” she disagreed. “Your promotion party is going to be ridiculous. Reese’s will probably get Eric to make sixteen entrées.”  
  
“That’s excessive.”   
  
“A dozen appetizers, David. A dozen!”

He hummed, memories almost visibly flitting over his eyes. “Ah, but you changed all of that didn’t you? Made a choice and picked something that was yours in your own kind of way?”  
  
“Shit, David, that wasn’t even trying.”   
  
“Worked though, didn’t it? Sometimes heavy-handed is your only option. And you’re kind of ridiculously stubborn.”   
  
Emma clicked her tongue, but there was no point in arguing when David so clearly knew he was right. “If I tell you that it did are you ever going to let me forget it?”   
  
“Not for the rest of your life,” he said immediately, and she _needed to stop crying_. David smiled. “Although, if Killian does something stupid like that again, I’ll absolutely arrest him.”   
  
“Noted.”   
  
“C’mon, get your laptop and we’ll watch the presser on the live stream.”

Emma ate the rest of her cheeseburger before the presser started, Ruby standing at a podium with a pinch between her eyebrows like she was already asking the New York media contingent to ask something stupid.

Killian was standing slightly to the side, tie and shirt and pants that were also kind of unfair, but probably only to Emma and his fingers kept fiddling with his ring.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth, Em,” David muttered, lacing his fingers through hers when she started yanking on her laces. She grabbed her ring with her other hand.

“As most of you have heard already, Rangers captain Killian Jones suffered a concussion that went undiagnosed in a game against the New Jersey Devils in December,” Ruby started. “Both the Rangers and Devils front offices are looking into the oversight, and while we were hopeful that Jones would make it back for a potential playoff push, that is no longer the case.”

The horde moved, hands jerking into the and recorders thrust forward, like that would make any difference and Emma didn’t remember starting to chew on her lip, but she could taste blood again. It didn’t really go with cheese fries.

Ruby’s glare got sharper.

The reporter in the front row put his recorder down.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Ruby muttered, David laughing softly and that wasn’t part of the pre-presser speech. “This is the official statement from front office. You should have all gotten the brief already, but now you can hear it straight from me. Cap isn’t coming back this season. End of story. Put that in your lede. That’s it.”  
  
A reporter raised his hand again. Ruby sighed. “Yeah, what, Zach?”

“Is Cap going to talk?”  
  
“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” Killian asked, and both Ruby and Emma rolled their eyes. David laughed again.

“I can see that, Cap. But sometimes you’re just kind of a...figurehead. You know?”

Emma squeezed David’s hand, working a not-so-quiet hiss out of him. “That was shit, wasn’t it?”

“My hand or that asshole reporter?”

“Your hand,” David chuckled. “No, of course the reporter. God, Killian looks like he’s going to kill him right there on camera.”  
  
“Checking face.”   
  
David mumbled an agreement, letting go of Emma’s hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders and there was something to be said for the steady feel of him against her. That was more heavy-handed.

“Zach, that’s not--” Ruby growled, but Killian moved, standing next to her with narrowed eyes and Zach from _wherever_ visibly recoiled in his seat.

“What’s your question, Zach?” Killian asked brusquely. Ruby shook her head. Her eyes were going to get stuck mid-roll.

Zach’s gaze darted around, like he was looking for fellow media support, a bit disappointed when he didn’t get a single thing from colleagues who were also trying to meet deadline and up their Twitter follower count.

“There’s been talk about what happened, Cap,” Zach said. “And the fine.”  
  
“If you want to know how much the fine is, you can get that from the league. That’s public.”   
  
“No, no, I don’t really care about the amount.”   
  
“Ask a question, Zach.”   
  
He nodded, patronizing and obnoxious and Emma exhaled like that was a challenge. Or she could go downstairs and check the asshole herself. They really wouldn’t have been able to afford that fine. “Well, you got hurt in the fight, right?”

Killian didn’t answer, just pressed his lips together. But his cheek was still bruised and he couldn’t really stand up perfectly straight because Victor said that might do something to his ribs and there was a whole new medicine schedule to remember.

“Alright,” Zach sighed, clearly re-examining his interview approach. “So if you’re not going to talk about the fight, then maybe we could get some clarity on what to expect from the rest of...everything.”  
  
“Be more specific,” Killian said softly. It didn’t _sound_ like a threat, but it would have been impossible to miss it, a glint in his eyes that Emma only saw when they were down in a playoff series or giving up too many power-play goals and their own power play had looked horrible the night before.

“The Rangers messed up, didn’t they? Missed your symptoms and didn’t stop the fight--” Zach held up his hands when he saw Ruby open her mouth. “I know, I know, Lucas, that’s off the record or unconfirmed, but I mean...Cap’s not usually quite that bruised and battered.”  
  
“Get to your goddamn question,” Ruby hissed, and none of this was going according to plan.

Zach grinned. “Fine, fine, fine. Do you think you’ll back on the ice next season, Cap and do you think it’ll be with the Rangers?”  
  
“The second part of that question doesn’t make sense,” Killian said.   
  
“I’ve got a source that there could be some discussion about moving you around.”   
  
“Well your source is an idiot because I’ve got a no trade. I’ve always had that. I’m only ever going to play for this team.”   
  
Ruby closed her eyes, retreating away from the podium and Zach appeared to have lost all the blood in his face. Emma licked her lips.

“This is my team,” Killian said, resting his forearms on the podium. That was dumb. He glanced around the room, eyes moving from reporter to reporter and Emma hoped he wasn’t looking for her.

She knew he was looking for her.

“It’s been my team since I got here,” Killian continued. “Because I grew up here. I started playing hockey in this city, bought up my first stick from a place on 89th and learned how to skate, pretty horribly at first, on a tiny patch of ice in Central Park. I learned how to play at the Piers and got my first penalty there. Roughing. Two minutes.”

He took a deep breath, eyes not quite glossy, but getting there and the entire room was frozen. Emma didn’t breathe. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

“And something kind of fit with this game,” he said. “I’d...you guys have done the stories. It was a goddamn depressing childhood and hockey didn’t fix that, but it certainly helped. It was...everything. This game and the feeling I got on the ice and how good I was at scoring.”  
  
The room laughed.

Emma laughed.

There were tears on her cheeks.

“So I kept scoring and Team USA noticed and Minnesota noticed and of course I went there because I was pretty great at scoring, but I really only ever wanted to be as good as my brother.” Killian flashed a smile, glancing at the cameras in the back of the room, and Emma felt her heart twist. “Liam was,” he exhaled, teeth finding his lip and fingers brushing over the tattoo on the back of his wrist, the same one two of three other horsemen shared. “He was better than me. So much better than me. But, uh, well, you guys wrote those stories too. Everything that happened happened and Liam couldn’t play and I hurt my hand and I thought it was over. It had to be because it…”  
  
Emma couldn't wipe her tears away quick enough. That was ridiculous.

And Killian’s smile was shaky at best, voice getting gruffer the longer he talked. His hands moved to the edge of the podium, knuckles going white when it he gripped it because everyone in that rom knew there was more.

“It didn’t didn’t end, right?” Killian asked, shrugging slightly. “The game was still there and still as important as it always was because I thought it was all I had. But, well, then something crazy happened.”  
  
Someone called _what_ from the back of the room and Emma’s breath hitched at the force of Killian’s answering look. It was like he was stunned someone had to ask, but was glad they did and she’d never heard his voice turn that way, pride and feeling in every single letter.

“I met my wife,” he answered. “And hockey wasn’t everything anymore. It was important, but it was...a job again. The way it should be. Because it’s a game. And as much as I want to win, as much as we both want to win, she’s...she’s even more competitive than me.”

David kissed Emma’s head again, tugging her tighter against his side when her shoulders started to shake.

“It can’t only be about winning,” Killian said. “I’m not even biased when I tell you that we’ve got the two greatest kids in the world. They’re…” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly like he couldn't believe he’d talked that long. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a deep breath. “They’re the greatest kids in the world, quote me on that. So I wanted to win for them. I still do. Desperately, if I’m being honest. Which is how we ended up here.

I lost sight of how important everything else was because I thought the only thing I could do to earn it was to play. But that’s...I mean, that’s insane, right?” No one answered his question. Emma might have nodded. “Don’t answer that,” he mumbled. “That was rhetorical. It’s insane. Hockey isn’t everything. My family is and there aren’t enough press conferences to apologize for not remembering that. So, to answer your question, Zach. I don’t know. I want to come back. I want to play for this team and win for this team and my kids. Because my kids deserve a goddamn Stanley Cup parade.

But I’m done risking everything that matters to me for that. And if some kid wants to take my spot on this roster or with this city, then he’s more than welcome to try. You guys got any other questions or we good here?”  
  
No one answered.   
  
“I think we’re good here, Cap,” Ruby muttered, holding her arm out and Killian nodded as walked away from the podium.

Emma exhaled.

“I’ll totally still arrest him if he does something stupid again,” David mumbled, and they split another burger before she heard the footsteps.

She didn’t turn at first, could feel him staring at the back of her head hard enough that it was nearly enough make her jump up and sling her arms around him and kiss him until he couldn't see straight, but Emma didn’t move.  

It probably wasn’t fair, was almost sort of teasing, but she figured, in the grand scheme of things, it sort of made them even.

“Swan,” Killian said softly, and there went any sense of teasing. She wasn’t entirely prepared for the softness in his voice, like a name that was entirely his now was the single most important thing he'd ever said.

Emma spun, met with blue and eyes and slightly parted lips and she thought she noticed him sag slightly when she looked him. Like he’d been holding his breath too.

“Hey,” she muttered. “You’re...I thought you’d still be downstairs.”  
  
“I wanted to be here before the presser, but, uh, some stuff happened and I’m--”   
  
“--Here now.”   
  
Killian nodded. “You have a couple minutes to talk, Swan?”

“Yeah,” Emma whispered. “Yeah, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write the fic if I don't mention Shake Shack at least once? The world may never know. 
> 
> Come flail on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if you're down


	10. Chapter 10

She didn’t get off the floor.

To be fair, it probably would have been difficult to get off the floor. There were papers and bags and what, at first glance, looked like several dozen chocolate chip cookies and Killian didn’t blame for her staying where she was.

Emma shook her head. “Double chocolate chip,” she said, and Killian’s knees were having a very difficult time staying straight.

He grinned.

“You looked like you were trying to figure it out,” Emma shrugged. “Made sense to cut out the banter'y middle-man. As it were.”  
  
“Do you not want to banter about desserts, Swan?”   
  
“Not really.”   
  
“Who made them?”

“Mary Margaret,” David answered. He stood up, rolling his eyes when Emma opened her mouth to make sure he followed the path Killian was certain she’d designed in order to get out of her office. An office David probably shouldn’t have been in.

Technically.

“Did you take the whole day off or…” Killian started, closing his mouth when David glared at him and he might have deserved that. Technically.

He wanted David to leave, like, five minutes ago.

“Just a few hours,” David muttered. “I wasn’t counting on your presser only lasting five minutes. That was way more efficient than any of us thought it’d be.”  
  
“Us?”   
  
“Don’t act like you’re not almost painfully aware of our quest.”   
  
“They didn’t call it a quest.”   
  
“That’s what we decided on.”   
  
“When were you naming it?” Killian asked, leaning against the doorframe and Emma had opened the bag of cookies. He shook his head when she offered him one. David needed to leave ten minutes ago.

“Prepare to feel like complete and utter shit,” David warned, but Killian barely had a moment to shrug before he kept talking and the warning was kind of unnecessary. “While we were sitting in the ER waiting room and Regina was yelling very loudly at front office and several children of varying ages were in varying degrees of distress.”

“Huh.”  
  
“That’s it?”   
  
“What would you like me to say, David?” David sighed, a put-upon sound that was probably fair considering the number of take-out bags on the floor. “Did you go to the Shake Shack on 42nd? That must have been crazy at lunch.”   
  
David groaned, head thrown back in frustration and, maybe, acceptance, and Killian glanced at Emma in confusion. She almost smiled, a flash of _something_ on her face that made his pulse sputter in his veins and this team had no concept of boundaries at all.

It wasn’t really a team.

Technically.

But _family_ sounded kind of melodramatic out loud and he could only begin to imagine what the headlines for his mini-tirade in front of the cameras would be.

Probably something with family in it.

“Why don’t either of you know where the Shake Shacks in this city are?” David shouted, and Killian got the distinct impression that wasn’t really the question he wanted to be asking.

“Apparently there’s a Shake Shack on Broadway,” Emma muttered, resting her forearms on her knees and her hair fell over both her shoulders.

Killian needed to move.

He needed to get out of this doorway and around the papers and the bags and he needed David to leave, like, fifteen minutes before, but he was glad David was there and--

“Mary Margaret couldn’t leave school again,” David said, answering a question no one had actually asked. Killian blinked. “You were doing something almost too obvious with your eyebrows. Like you were thinking too hard.”  
  
“That seems kind of judgmental, actually,” Killian countered.

“That’s kind of been his mo for the last few minutes,” Emma said. She grabbed the cup next to her, making a frustrated noise when it was clear she’d run out of milkshake and Killian wasn’t only worried about his knees.

He was fairly certain his entire body was shutting down systematically – one organ after another and he could almost feel the adrenaline leaving his system, like winning in OT and coming off the ice to find...something.

He’d never played in a metaphorical game like this one.

This wasn’t a game.

God.

He was on a melodramatic roll.

“Trust me, Em, you got off easy on this one,” David said, resting a hand on her shoulder and she mumbled a string of curses under her breath. It was difficult to understand while she was still trying to pick up the last few dregs of milkshake.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I mean, you only got me. And baked goods from Mary Margaret. There was potential for Rubes if she wasn’t so swamped and playing distraction with the Rookie.”

“He’s not a rookie anymore,” Emma argued. “He’s literally got some kind of memorial thing tomorrow for point totals.”  
  
“Is that the word you were looking for?”

“Absolutely not.” Emma glanced at Killian when he couldn't quite keep his laugh in, and maybe the melodrama was making him a little crazy too because this was not the talking he was promised a few moments ago and he kind of just wanted to kiss her until she couldn’t see straight.

Or something less aggressive.

“That’s what I keep thinking of it as too,” Killian said. “But memorial’s got a distinctly macabre connotation to it, doesn’t it? Like we’re honoring his work or dedication to the cause.”  
  
“The fact you can even use the word macabre in conversation seems like a pretty good indicator that your brain is fine,” Emma muttered, but her voice shook a little as the sentence went on and Killian walked further into the room. “You don’t happen to know where Phillip’s mom is, do you?”   
  
“Is that something I should know?”   
  
“It’d be weird if you did, but apparently Phillip doesn’t know where she is or if she’s coming to whatever we’re calling tomorrow and Merida’s probably patrolling the Canadian tundra looking for her right now.”   
  
“That’d be impressive since I saw her in the hallway a few seconds ago.”   
  
“Do you not think Merida knows how to teleport?”   
  
Killian hummed, smirk settling on his face with practiced ease and he was certain Emma’s hair got brighter or her eyes got greener or maybe he just fell in love with her a little more, right then, but those were all ridiculous things and David sounded particularly disgusted by each one.

“God, the blatant flirting has got to stop,” David grumbled. “It’s ridiculous. Also, I feel like I should tell you right now that I almost take offense at you suggesting your kids are better than anyone else's. You’re totally biased. And lucky Locksley wasn’t at your presser.”  
  
“He wasn’t?” Emma asked sharply, and David was going to set a record for groans and grouses and some other verb that started with the letter ‘g.’   
  
“I told you, Em, you got easy on the quest. How many of them ended up showing? Ariel wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to blow off Husinger.”   
  
Killian didn’t really gasp, wasn’t entirely _surprised_ , but he was a little frustrated that he probably owed Ariel three life debts now and that just seemed kind of unfair.

“Ah,” David breathed. “She didn’t mention that part, did she?”  
  
Killian shook his head. “Conveniently left out. And if you count the FaceTime, seven of them.”

David let out a low whistle, squeezing Emma’s shoulders slightly when her eyes widened and her head snapped between them quickly enough that Killian swore he heard it crack. “That seems kind of excessive, don’t you think?” she asked, nearly yelling the question at him.

“I mean, yeah,” David shrugged. “But we’re all us and Arthur agreed to no walk-through in a surprisingly short amount of time. Or so Ruby said when she told him.”  
  
“Well, if Lucas told him, then Arthur was just doing his best to stay alive at that point,” Killian said, David nodding a quiet agreement.

“I’m totally going to tell her you said that and then whatever absurdly romantic thing you just did at that presser is going to be null and void.”  
  
“I wasn’t doing it for bonus points with Lucas.”   
  
“Ah, c’mon, that’s even more ridiculous,” David sighed. “You can’t just say shit like that. I’m swooning over you.”   
  
“I always knew you liked me the best, Detective.”   
  
“Sergeant,” Emma corrected lightly, but she was smiling and she’d finally put the goddamn milkshake down.

David made an impossible noise in the back of his throat, but she didn’t say anything else and Killian needed to _move_. His legs wouldn’t listen. He was frozen and a little stunned and ridiculously in love with his own wife.

He needed David to leave.

“Did you guys really not bet on anything though?” Emma asked, looking up at David like she was asking Matt how much ice cream he’d _really_ eaten. “That seems decidedly out of character.”

“We were in the emergency room, Em! We were worried about Killian’s brain!”  
  
“Can we stop phrasing it like that?” Killian mumbled. “It’s really messing with my head honestly.”   
  
“Was that supposed to be a joke?”   
  
“Absolutely not.”   
  
“It wouldn’t have been funny anyway,” Emma added, eyes back on the floor and fingers twisting around her laces and Killian wasn’t really sure how his brain actually worked, but his legs were moving suddenly and finally and he didn’t knock over a single stack of papers.

She clicked her tongue when he stepped into her space, barely any carpet between his sneakers and the bend in her knees, and it probably wasn’t supposed to be the single most endearing thing in the world when she tugged lightly on the side of his jeans.

“Like some charging white knight sent to save my sanity,” Emma said softly, and Killian shook his head before she’d even finished.

“The exact opposite, in fact.”

“God damnit,” David growled, backpedaling towards the door with Shake Shack bags in his hands. “Is this karma? Is that what it is?”  
  
“That’s suggesting that you know you and Reese's have been absolutely, disgustingly in love for the last twenty-thousand years,” Emma pointed out.

“Ok, it has not been that long.”  
  
“Hasn’t it though?”

It was as if all the fight fell out of David at once, shoulders drooping and body sagging and his smile wasn’t quite as challenging as it was before. “I mean, maybe,” he admitted. “But I’ve never announced how much I love Mary Margaret during a press conference. It shouldn’t have gotten to that point, but--”  
  
“--David!”   
  
“Nah, he’s right, Swan,” Killian said. Her hair almost hit his shins when she snapped her head back towards him, mouth dropping open slightly as she exhaled. He crouched down, trying desperately to keep his balance and he leaned into Emma’s hand when she rested it on her cheek. “I’m sorry.”   
  
“I know that,” she whispered.

He turned, brushing his lips over the back of her palm and the side of her wrist, moving just above her laces and ignoring David completely.

He didn’t make a sound.

“Merida really didn’t teleport to Canada,” Killian muttered, Emma’s hand shaking when he worked a laugh out of her. “Although I do think she absolutely would for you.”  
  
“That’s so stupid.”   
  
“No, it’s not, Swan. And I may have gotten more people in my quest, intervention, whatever they were calling it, but I’m fairly certain Scarlet may challenge David in attempts to defend your honor.”   
  
“That seems really counterproductive.”   
  
“And he’s definitely not stealing my spot,” David said. “I’ve got years of this. My experience is unprecedented.”   
  
Emma laughed, closing her eyes softly as her fingers fell across the back of Killian’s neck. His knees were starting to ache. He didn’t move. “Make sure you mention that when they want to promote you, ok?” she asked. “Seriously, though, what was the bet? You’re avoiding it. That means it must have been especially ridiculous.”

“I mean, not ridiculous…” David wavered. Emma smiled at Killian. It was becoming more and more difficult not to kiss her.

He was considering doing it anyway.

He did it anyway.

“I’m standing right here,” David yelled. Killian didn’t move – he really wasn’t sure he could, and he’d have to mention that to Ariel at some point because his knees definitely should not be that sore – just slanted his lips over Emma’s and appreciated her quiet sigh against him and her fingers in his hair and it was a mess of limbs and tongues and feelings and references to late 80s toys.

Emma pulled back before Killian was entirely ready, lips pressed together tightly and breathing slightly erratic. He couldn’t feel the back of his hair standing up, but Killian knew it was wrecked at best and he wasn’t entirely sure what happened when Emma met his gaze, but it was like a world that had been spinning out of control since that hit in Jersey finally found its gravitational pull again.

He absolutely did not know enough about space to make claims like that.

“I love you,” he said instead, resting his forehead on Emma’s. Her eyes fluttered shut, fingers moving back to his jaw and careful around the cheekbone that was still very broken and incredibly bruised.

“More than anything,” she finished.

And, really, he would have been more than willing to sustain whatever injury he was, no doubt, inflicting on his knees because it was definitely some kind of shift in gravity.

“Locksley, Ruby and I bet how many cookies Mary Margaret was going to bake because she felt bad she couldn’t be part of the quest,” David announced.

Killian didn’t turn around.

Emma opened her eyes though – a flash of amusement and happiness that almost felt acceptable, despite dramatic press conferences and the several requests for _another comment_ Killian was sure Ruby was dealing with.

“Did you win?” Emma asked.

“Nah, I thought she’d only make two dozen, but I’ve clearly underestimated how much she likes you. And maybe Killian. But mostly Emma.”  
  
“I’m not really offended by that,” Killian admitted, glancing over his shoulder and David nodded like that was the only acceptable answer.

“Good because Locksley totally won. He thought more than three dozen. I swear Ruby did almost permanent damage to her lungs laughing at that. Nearly woke up Matt in the ER. She’s going to be embarrassed now.”  
  
“What were your stakes?” Emma asked.   
  
“Now Rubes and I have to take turns paying for whatever anyone with a Locksley and or Mills last name wants to eat the restaurant tonight.”   
  
“Were we going there tonight?”   
  
“You want to pick up your kids, don’t you?”   
  
“Wait, what?”   
  
“Scarlet and Banana took Peggy before my presser,” Killian explained. “And then announced they were going to pick Matt up from school and then something about--”   
  
“--The library,” David interrupted. “I told you, Em. It was a very complex and involved quest. Mary Margaret took notes. Ah, God, don’t tell her I told you that.”   
  
“No, no, no,” Emma shook her head, smile as bright as it had been in weeks. Killian needed to get off the floor. “That’s the kind of information I plan on lording over all of you for the rest of time. That’s…” She exhaled, not quite a sigh or a huff, but decidedly emotional and Killian kissed the top of her hair. Her fingers had moved to the front of his shirt at some point, holding on tightly and he couldn’t see David without falling over, but Killian assumed he was smiling too.

“It’s ridiculously nice,” Emma said. “Even if it’s a complete disregard for personal boundaries.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you guys can’t stop flirting with each other and you’ve been married forever, so, comparatively…”   
  
“I don’t think that’s the same thing at all.”   
  
“No, probably not,” David admitted. “Killian, tell Scarlet I’ll beat him up for rights to be Emma’s top defender and I’m really serious about my arrest threat.”   
  
“You’re going to arrest Scarlet?” Killian asked.

“No, you.”  
  
“Oh.”   
  
“Right.”   
  
“Thank you Sergeant,” Emma muttered, a fondness in the words that was almost too obvious. “For the excessive and only slightly necessary dad’ing.”   
  
“God, I hate that word.”   
  
“At least a little bit of older brother’ing.”   
  
“That’s kind of better.”

“Kind of,” Emma echoed. “What are you going to do with all those cheeseburgers? How many things of fries did you order?”  
  
“Way too many. I’ll see if Mer wants any while she’s tracking down Phillip’s mom and then, I don’t know, I’ll just go hand them out to strangers or something.”   
  
“You might get arrested for that,” Killian pointed out.

Emma laughed, letting her head fall against his shoulder and it was a strange balancing act when he tried to move his arm around her waist, but _not_ touching her seemed insane and he was already a little frustrated they weren’t still kissing. “David Nolan, cheeseburger fairy of Madison Square Garden,” she giggled into Killian’s shirt.

“That’s the worst name I have ever heard, Swan.”  
  
“No, that’s so good.”   
  
“Just Madison Square Garden?”   
  
“You’re totally right,” Emma agreed, pulling her head up and her smile felt a bit like staring into the sun. “You’ve to take this show on the road, David. Just wandering around handing out slightly overpriced, but undeniably delicious cheeseburgers.”   
  
“Ok, ok,” David muttered. “I am leaving now. I am not giving out cheeseburgers because we all know that is absurd. Talk to each other. Stop being so goddamn stupid. I’ll see at the restaurant later.”

He left in a huff, bags hitting his legs as he spun on the spot and Killian could barely make out _you guys want some cheeseburgers_ as David stalked back towards the elevators at the other end of the hallway.

They didn’t say anything for a moment, Killian still inexplicably crouched in front of Emma’s legs and it was difficult to think of a single word when she kept doing that thing with her fingers.

She took a deep breath, a quiet hitch in the air and he’d never moved his head that quickly – snapping up and staring wide-eyed with something that felt like hope churning his gut and his incredibly sore calf muscles.

“Swan, I--”  
  
“--Killian, I.”

He chuckled lightly, head dropping forward enough that his hair nearly fell into his eyes. Emma pulled her lips back behind her teeth and her ring had fallen over her shirt at some point, light reflecting off the stone and, possibly, the ends of her hair and he didn’t really think before he stood up.

That kept happening.

The no thinking thing.

Killian held his hand out, pulse thudding when Emma took it without question. Her fingers were warm when they wrapped around his, letting her direct her towards a surprisingly empty chair and she only argued a little when he tugged her against him.

“This can’t possibly be safe,” she mumbled, but the words didn’t have much fight in them and Killian grinned into the jut of her shoulder.

“I’m not a time bomb, Swan. I really don’t think there’s any safety involved.”

“You know that’s not what I meant at all.”  
  
“Yeah, I did, but I’m really not worried about my ribs. There was an almost full nap staged on top of them earlier today.”   
  
She leaned back, his palm flat on her shirt to make sure she didn’t move too far away – a move that either made him vaguely overprotective or the single most selfish person in a fifty-block radius and it was probably a strange combination of both.

“Yeah?” Emma asked softly, chewing on her lower lip like it was the world’s biggest question. Killian nodded.   
  
“Mine was definitely an intervention. There was quite a lot of sweeping judgment and I’m only a little concerned that the integrity of our front door has been compromised.”   
  
“Did Anna always kick it? I don’t remember that happening before.”   
  
“That’s because it’s a very old habit.”   
  
“That so?”   
  
Killian hummed, eyes closing and memories playing out and he had several strong suspicions that Anna might not be leaving New York any time soon. He wasn’t sure why that made his heart feel as if it was growing exponentially.

And that was another enormous lie.

He needed to stop doing this.

The point of this was to stop lying.

“You going to tell the story or, like, just keep stalling by making your hair do that thing?” Emma asked, and Killian’s eyes snapped open.

She grinned  – as if she knew she won and he wasn’t sure _what_ she won exactly, but he was more than willing to give it to her and maybe _the_ conversation could wait for a little more flirting and a little more reminiscing and if they started making out in that chair again then he wasn’t really going to argue.

“It didn’t start with the door,” Killian said, trying to remember dates and secret codes and it was difficult to stay focused when Emma kept staring at him like that. Like maybe proclaiming several things in front of the entire New York City media and national hockey reporters was enough to make her swoon just a bit.

“You’re still a garbage storyteller,” she accused, tugging on the front of his shirt and shifting on his leg. He widened his eyes when that proved particularly difficult to deal with and her eyes _absolutely_ got brighter that time. That was just science or something. “How come you didn’t wear team-branded?”   
  
“Swan, you can’t ask questions that aren’t part of the original story.”   
  
“Last one, I promise.”   
  
“Gina told me it would be better if I dressed up. Prove my dedication or professionalism or something. I didn’t really care.”   
  
“Lazy.”

He shrugged, tightening his arm around her waist. “Mostly I didn’t want to spend fifteen minutes listening to El and Banana trying to decide which shade of blue was the most appropriate and closest to my uniform color.”  
  
“They would.”   
  
“A fact I am almost painfully aware of.”

Emma laughed again, brushing her lips over his temple and the side of his hair. “The story, Cap,” she muttered. “It apparently didn’t start with the door.”  
  
“No, it didn’t,” Killian agreed. “My room in the brownstone was in between Banana and El’s. It used to be some kind of actual playroom because that was the kind of house it was and when I picked that one Banana was furious. I stole her and El’s spot and was, literally, in between her and El and it was a whole thing.”   
  
“She’s awfully dramatic sometimes, isn’t he?”   
  
“I wouldn’t mention that to her if I were you.”   
  
“Obviously.”   
  
“So,” he continued, fingers tracing patterns against Emma’s spine. He was slightly optimistic she leaned into it. “Banana was pissed, or as pissed as an eight-year-old could ever be when losing a room that most normal kids would never have.”   
  
“You’re getting distracted.”   
  
Killian hummed, kissing the side of her neck and that only led to more moving on her part and an arm around his shoulders and fingers in his hair and he was almost out of breath by the time he started talking again.

“Anyway. Banana started kicking the walls.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“I’m not kidding, Swan. Straight up kicking the walls. All the time. Morning, afternoon, middle of the goddamn night. It was the single most annoying thing that a human child could ever do, but I was terrified Mr. and Mrs. V were going to send us back at any given moment and Banana knew that too and I didn’t say anything.”   
  
“God, that’s evil,” Emma muttered. “Seriously. Should we be letting her watch our kids?”   
  
“There’s a happy ending to this story, I promise,” Killian said. He wondered if his whole soul would ever stop doing _whatever_ at the phrase _our kids_. Probably not. He hoped not. “At some point, probably after she offered to be my first fight at the Piers, Banana decided she didn’t quite mind that I took the room. And didn’t quite mind that I was there or that Liam and I were staying there for the foreseeable future. But she didn’t stop kicking on the wall. And eventually it kind of evolved into a...communications system sounds really lame, doesn’t it?”   
  
“I mean, a little,” Emma admitted. “You didn’t just want to learn Morse code with your feet?”   
  
“We didn’t have time for that. There was way too much hockey to be played.”   
  
“So you invented your own language. With kicks? And that’s why she was kicking on the door? To communicate with you. Secretly.”   
  
“It sounds absurd when you say it like that,” Killian mumbled, but Emma was already shaking her head. Her hair hit him in the jaw.

And, honestly, he probably should have been ready for it – Emma’s head moving and her lips finding his and it wasn’t _quite_ possessive, but it was pretty damn close and he would have gone willingly, agreed to anything if it meant this stayed as it was or continued to be and the tenses weren’t important.

Because nothing was more important than the moment and them and several other prepositions.

He figured it was prepositions.

He kissed her back.

It took, approximately, three seconds for Emma to sling her legs back over his, both hands in his hair and hips rocking against his and this wasn’t really the plan, but it was definitely a _better_ plan and she gasped when Killian’s tongue traced over her bottom lip.

Killian tried to sit up straighter, ignoring the rush of pain to his ribs and he was only a little worried his left eye was starting to swell shut. None of it mattered when his hands found their way under Emma’s shirt, hiking up fabric until he moved over skin and the ridges of her spine and he hoped Merida had gone to Canada because the idea of this ending any time soon was almost offensive.

Emma arched against him, digging the toes of her shoes into the ground to try and get leverage and it was heady and desperate and needy and a whole slew of adjectives that didn’t have a particularly great connotation either.

But the last two weeks and three days had been just that and neither one of them stopped.

They pulled back, breathed and kept going.

Again. And again. And again.

Emma’s fingers kept moving, carding through hair that was far too long and over his shoulders, moving over his arms like she was trying to map them. He would have let her. Gladly. Enthusiastically.

He was basically a one-man thesaurus at this point.

Suffering from severe oxygen deprivation.

Killian might have gasped when they pulled apart, but that might have been Emma and the specifics weren’t really important because he was, at least, seventy-two percent certain they were just occupying the same space at that point.

“God, that was…” Emma breathed, licking her lips and brushing her hair away from her face.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, Swan.”  
  
“That was how it was intended.”

He tried not to wince when he shifted in the chair, suddenly aware of whatever was poking into his back, but Emma had some kind of sixth sense for that and she narrowed her eyes when he hissed in a breath of air.

“We’re really not doing great on this talking thing, are we?” she asked lightly, brushing over his side and the sigh wasn’t so much a reaction as it was instinct.

_Melodramatic asshole_.

“Ah, I don’t know about that, love,” Killian countered. “Talking is sometimes incredibly overrated.”  
  
“We’re going to end up breaking your ribs.”   
  
“But what a way to go.   
  
Emma laughed in spite of the look on her face, and he moved his eyebrows – a smirk and an expression that was nearly a decade in the making. She swatted at his shoulder, or, at least tried, but he caught her around the wrist, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and just above her ring and Emma’s eye roll didn’t seem very enthusiastic.

“Stupid athlete,” she mumbled.

Killian nodded, not letting go of her wrist. “I meant it, you know. Every single word. They could stage a presser for me every day and it wouldn’t be enough to apologize to you, love.”

“That seems kind of excessive,” Emma sighed, smile falling off her face and that shouldn’t have hurt nearly as much as it did.

“I”ll talk to Lucas. Once a day every day for the rest of...time or something.”  
  
“Definitely excessive.”   
  
“Worth it.”   
  
“I get why you didn’t say anything,” she said. “I do. And I get why those assholes in Jersey didn’t force you into an MRI, even if I’ve come up with some very detailed and slightly dramatic ways to kill them and make it look like an accident.”   
  
“You’ve got an NYPD Sergeant on your side, love. I’m fairly certain you could get away with just about anything at this point.”   
  
“He’d rather kill you.”   
  
“I picked up on that, strangely enough.”

Emma laughed, but it still sounded a bit like a sigh. And she must have moved before she’d thought about it, twisting so she was curled against his side in a chair that was definitely not big enough for that.

Killian didn’t say anything.

He waited for her.

Indefinitely.

“I understand,” Emma whispered. “And it’s...God, I wish you hadn’t done it. I hate that you did it. That you ever thought it was an ok idea or a good idea or...what happened if you got hit again? What would have happened if you never passed out and some asshole goon from, I don’t know, Winnipeg decided he really wanted to make a name for himself by jamming you into the boards?”  
  
“Did you pick Winnipeg for a specific reason?”   
  
“I was trying to think of a small market.”   
  
“Ah, of course,” Killian muttered, reaching up to brush the tears away from Emma’s cheeks. She sighed again. “And I did think of it. Every single time I laced up and every single time I got checked in the corner. I thought about symptoms and repercussions and how much trouble those guys in Jersey would get in if anyone ever found out.”   
  
“But?”   
  
“But then I’d get off the ice and you were there. And that wasn’t a lie either, Swan. I can’t be held accountable for my thoughts when you’re wearing my number.”

“What a line.”  
  
“The absolute truth,” he corrected. “I’d get off the ice or I’d get home from a road swing and there were kids and smiles and Mattie is…”   
  
“Definitely better than any other kid we know combined,” Emma finished. “Both of them are.”   
  
“Yeah, they are. It’s, God, Swan, it’s everything. You know that, don’t you?” Emma nodded. “When I got hurt before, I thought that was it. I’d maybe get back to the game and maybe win eventually and I wanted to win.”   
  
“That’s because you’re absurdly competitive. I refuse to believe I’m more competitive than you are. That’s just blatant lying.”

“Possibly equal.”  
  
“I could consider that.”   
  
“Good,” he said, kissing just on the edge of her mouth. He could feel her smile. “This changed all of it, Emma. Made it matter and mean something and winning wasn’t everything, but we kept winning and I just wanted…” Killian bit his lip, dragging his tongue across the front of his teeth until he was threatening to cut it.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Emma said bluntly. He nearly knocked her on the floor. That probably would have ruined the moment.

“What?” Killian sputtered, but her expression didn’t change and this was not the turn he expected the conversation to take.

“Dumb,” Emma repeated. “Like the dumbest thing I have ever heard. I mean I knew it, but it’s...shit, I can’t come up with another word except dumb.”  
  
“That’s pretty scathing as is.”

She scoffed, body practically falling against his side and it kind of hurt his face when she gripped it in both hands and kissed him – hard.

“You know I was only kind of kidding about stupid athlete before,” Emma mumbled, not bothering to move away from his lips. “You do not have to win another thing. Ever. You could get DFA’ed--”  
  
“--That’s baseball, Swan.”   
  
“Take my exaggerated point for what it is!” Killian nodded seriously, more than ready for her scowl and scoff and her hair fell through his fingers easily when he moved his hand. “I love you,” she said, stabbing a finger into his chest for emphasis. “It has always been you and it will always be you and, yeah, Matt wants to win a Stanley Cup, but he’s four. He’ll forget the Stanley Cup exists if you don’t ever skate again. He wants to be you, Killian. It just so happens, you’re a hockey player now.

You are the best dad either one of our kids could ask for,” Emma continued, a crack in the words and Killian wished he could stop making her cry. That didn’t seem fair to either of them. “And it isn’t because we stole a Conn-Smythe that one time or won anything. We could be the shittiest team in the league and it wouldn’t make a difference. It’d still be you and me and us, collectively. As our own unit.”  
  
“Team, love,” Killian said softly, Emma’s breath hitching. “A team, right?”   
  
“Not if you don’t disclose injuries to your literal one and only teammate.”

He let out a shaky laugh, burrowing his head into the crook of her neck and it smelled like that same body wash and home and that was _absurd_ , but they were making veiled metaphors and shouting emotions in each other’s faces and their very important, possibly life-changing conversation had been interrupted by a rather intense makeout session.

“I know,” he said. “I know, but I didn’t want--”  
  
“--If you’re about to tell me that you didn’t want to disappoint me, I’m going to scream.”   
  
“You’re kind of already yelling, Swan.”   
  
“Do not argue semantics with me right now. I’ve been going insane for the last two and a half weeks and I…”

She closed her eyes, jaw tight when she snapped her mouth shut and Killian tilted his head. “You what?” Emma shook her head. “No, no, that’s not how it works, Swan. You what?”  
  
It seemed to take forever for her to answer, eyes pulling back up to him in what felt like slow motion or reverse and the second one didn’t make sense, but Killian wasn’t sure he was still breathing and he’d never seen her look like that.

As terrified as Will promised she was.

He was going to schedule a press conference every day for the rest of his life.

“I should have known,” Emma whispered. Killian froze. He was positive his heart stopped and the world stopped spinning and he refused to be held accountable for whatever noise he made – like all the oxygen had been forcibly yanked out of his lungs.

“Emma, no, that’s not--”  
  
“--No, no, it is though,” she argued. “Because you should have told me, should have told several medical professionals, honestly, but it was a month, Killian! A month of games and I knew something was wrong in Nashville and I should have realized.”   
  
“That’s not your job, love.”   
  
“Yeah, but I kind of want it to be.”

His heart sped up to what was undoubtedly an healthy amount of beats per minute. Killian glanced down to make sure the stupid thing hadn’t actually flown out of his chest and, at some point, he was sure, he’d have to pay dues to whatever deity had made all of this happen – this life and kids he was sure were the greatest on several different planets and _Emma_ staring at him like she could imagine a world without him in it.

“God, I love you so much, you know that,” Killian muttered, surging up and catching her lips with his and the words got a little jumbled after that.

Emma hummed, mumbling something that sounded like _context clues_ against his mouth. He never knew how long they stayed like – perched almost precariously in a questionably uncomfortable chair with Emma’s right heel digging into his calf and a makeout session that wasn’t quite as frantic as before, but felt a little more important – and it didn’t really matter.

Merida had probably stolen Emma’s cell phone.

“You are so much more than this team, or this game or another Stanley Cup parade,” Emma said, fisting the front of his shirt again and he was going to have to change before they went to the restaurant. “Those are overrated anyway. Way too much work after the season is, technically, over.”

“You’re very good at planning Stanley Cup parades, Swan.”  
  
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Killian said again, trying to infuse every single ounce of meaning he could into every single letter. “I can’t...I never wanted this to happen, Emma.”   
  
“I know that. I’ve known that the whole time, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying.”   
  
“I don’t want you to look up any more CTE symptoms, ok?”   
  
She nodded, brushing away her own tears. “I don’t want it to be over either, you know. This team and this game and it’s always been everything to me too.”   
  
And, really, he wasn’t going to ask.

He was going to apologize at least a dozen more times and maybe kiss his wife some more and see if he could coerce his wife to leave work early, but his mind didn’t seem to care and--”Did you talk to Tink about this job?”

Emma stiffened, pulling in a breath of air through her nose and her answering nod wasn’t much more than just a slightly awkward jerk of her head. “When?” Killian asked.

“Before David staged his quest. She wanted to see where I was leaning or if I was leaning at all, which honestly is bullshit since she gave me until the end of the month, but--”  
  
“--Are you leaning?”   
  
“I don’t know,” Emma admitted. “I think about it one way and it seems like the best thing I could be doing. It’s probably a huge raise and the league is, you know, working for the _league_ and I’ve kind of settled into community relations. It’d be crazy to do that internationally.”   
  
“And then,” Killian prompted, working a quiet laugh out of her and he grinned when she kissed his cheek. The not broken one.

“And then I think about traveling and being on the road and away from all of this. And it kind of makes me sick to my stomach.. Even if this also includes tracking down Phillip’s mom.”

“If Merida can’t find her, she doesn’t exist.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s probably true,” Emma agreed. He felt her breathing against him, quiet inhales and steady exhales and they were always a little all over each other, or so both Ruby and Will would be too quick to point out, but he couldn't seem to stop touching her, just to make sure she was still there and still _believed_ and, maybe, still his.

In a way that was decidedly less possessive than that.

“When I was a kid, I didn’t really believe in anything,” Emma whispered. Killian’s fingers didn’t stop moving. “I wanted to. Desperately. I wanted to think happily ever after was a thing and fairy tales existed and everything just kept reminding me that they didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t for me. And I was never sure what was more depressing. All of it, probably.

So I got very cynical and angry and I know...I know you get that, but I wasn’t kidding before. Reese’s and David have been disgustingly in love since the dawn of time and I was jealous of that and them and then I showed up here and I…”  
  
Killian smiled when she trailed off, ducking into her eye line and letting his hand rest on the back of her neck. “Changed everything, huh?”   
  
“Yeah, basically,” Emma muttered. “And you had this fairy tale family and overprotective linemates who were suddenly willing to defend my honor too and do you owe Ariel more life debts because she was part of your quest?”   
  
“I’m thinking at least three now, but I’ll have to check when I see her later.”   
  
“Of course. God, this team is so dumb. It’s ridiculous. This is not normal. It’s…” She shrugged, smile a bit wry like she was challenging him to disagree. He couldn’t. “It’s everything I wanted when I was a kid and it’s everything I’d been waiting for and hoping for and I love you an absolutely ridiculous amount. Walking away from that is--”   
  
“--Not what you’d be doing, Swan.”   
  
“No?”   
  
“No,” Killian repeated. “It’s an incredible job, love. And you’d be incredible at it. And I...we could figure it out.”   
  
“I don’t want to do that. That’s selfish and ridiculous and I’m not saying any of this has been easy because I’m pretty positive I’ve fucked up your ribs in the last ten minutes, but I just want things to stay the way they are. Is that wrong?”   
  
“Of course not.”   
  
“Even if it might not be possible.”   
  
“Of course not,” Killian grinned.

“You sound like a broken record.”  
  
"That’s a very old sentence.”   
  
“Yeah, it is,” she laughed, and his ribs felt better than they had in days. “I don’t know what I want to do and I’m absolutely awful at change and, I’ve been so worried about Casino Night and did someone tell you I forgot to get Mr. and Mrs. V tickets? Because that’s super shitty of me.”   
  
“I promise they’re not upset, Swan,” Killian guaranteed. “If they get to watch Mattie and Pegs, they’ll be thrilled.”

Emma hummed noncommittally, shoulders shaking when Killian rested his head against them and he’d never be entirely sure what made him ask the next question either, but she kept staring out the window of her office and she’d been terrified. So his reasoning didn’t really matter because he’d only ever really wanted Emma to be happy.

“What if I didn’t come back?”

She turned her head slowly, eyebrows pulled low and something that felt like disbelief actually pulsing in the air around her. “What?”  
  
“It’s not guaranteed I can,” Killian started, and Emma’s eyebrows didn’t move. “So that’s part of it, but what if I didn’t?”   
  
“You want to retire?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But it’s an idea, isn’t it?”  
  
“I don’t understand.”   
  
“I don’t have to play again, love. Not if there were more risks and there’s no guarantee we’ll ever win again.”   
  
“Shut up, we totally will.”   
  
Killian scoffed at the intensity in her voice, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep talking without dissolving into several other emotions. “I’m just saying it’s an option. I could...I don’t have to keep playing, Emma.”   
  
“So I can take this job?”   
  
“If you want. It’s not like there aren’t other options. I’m sure Gina could figure out some loophole with my contract for injuries.”   
  
Emma gaped at him, mouth hanging open and eyes blinking far quicker than normal. “I don’t...I don’t understand. So what? I take this job and fly around the world and you--”   
  
“--It was never just about me, Swan,” Killian said gruffly. Her eyes got wider. “It’s never been just about me playing. I don’t want it to be. And if you want this job, then--”   
  
“--God, shut up,” she interrupted. They were a pretzel of limbs that time, but Killian was only partially certain he was still awake and cognizant when Emma nipped at his lip because he was fairly certain this was a dream he’d had at some point and there was not enough skin to touch.

There were footsteps in the hallway – probably Merida and Emma’s stolen cell phone and maybe she’d brought Phillip’s mom with her too – and Killian couldn’t catch his breath when Emma looked at him.

“I’ll think about it, ok?” she asked. “End of the month deadline. But I really need you to get a tux for Casino Night, because I really can’t think about that.”  
  
“I can do that, Swan.”

They did get out of the office eventually and Merida didn’t find Phillip’s mom, but Ruby tracked her down and got her a jersey and Phillip kept blushing every time someone brought up the ceremony.

“Can’t we do it off the ice?” he asked, not for the first time as the whole lot of them walked into the restaurant.

“Rook, I don’t know what to tell you,” Emma groaned. “You’ve scored a lot of goals. Front office demands you stand in the spotlight for a few minutes.”  
  
“God, this is the worst.”   
  
“Yeah, your life is real tough.”   
  
“This is an easy fix, Rook,” Killian added. “Stop scoring goals. Done and done.”   
  
“You're just worried about your scoring record,” Phillip accused.

“I couldn’t care less about my scoring record. And you're whining about something your wife has been talking about for months, so, consider that for a second.”  
  
Phillip sighed. “God, I hate when you’re right.”   
  
Killian nodded once, slinging an arm around Emma’s shoulder and it took less than a full instant for a small body holding a questionably large hockey stick to slam into his side. And another two moments for Will to catch up.

“What the hell is this, Scarlet?” Killian asked, picking Matt up despite both Emma and Will’s objections. “Did you steal the stick again?”  
  
“Nah, we didn’t even go to the Garden,” Will said. “That’s mine from the apartment. The library got boring. So I expect it back later.”   
  
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Emma muttered. “Shouldn’t have shown him the stick.”   
  
“Rookie mistake, Scarlet,” Killian said.

Will glared at them. “Whatever. I swear to God his wrister has gotten better in the last three days. It’s ridiculous. Don’t tell Belle about the dent in our hallway, please.”  
  
“Consider it done.”   
  
“You’re a fantastic leader, Cap, really.”   
  
“Yeah, and you’re trying almost too had. You get ice cream out of him too, Mattie?”

Matt nodded quickly, nearly dropping the stick in the process and he didn’t argue when Emma pried it out of his hands. “Chocolate and chocolate sprinkles.”

“Aw, c’mon, Dr. J,” Will groaned. “We pinky swore.”  
  
Killian shrugged, flashing a smile when Matt wrapped both arms around his neck. “I think I rank higher than you, Scarlet.”   
  
“Well, that’s stupid.”   
  
“Absolutely. David start buying Locksley food yet?”   
  
“God, how do you know that too?”   
  
“This team talks way too much,” Emma answered, pushing lightly on Will’s arm to move him further into the restaurant. “C’mon, I’m starving and I want real food after my Shake Shack.”   
  
She glanced back at Killian, Matt still hanging from his side and he’d probably think about the look on her face for several weeks. The rest of the season, at least.

“You good?”

“Better, Swan,” Killian promised, a hand on her back as they settled into their spot at the end of the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like romance. That's it, really. 
> 
> Come flail on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if you're down


	11. Chapter 11

Phillip’s mother had not been in Montréal.

She’d been in Toronto.

Figured.

And she showed up an hour before Phillip’s ceremony.

Figured. Again.

“Swan, you’ve got to breathe, love,” Killian said. By her last count that was the fifth time he’d told Emma that since they’d gotten out of the car.

She glared at him.

He didn’t blink.

“I feel we’re at some kind of ceremonial impasse,” Emma grumbled, digging the toe of her shoe into the recently rediscovered carpet in her office. She wasn’t sure when that had happened exactly – had been far too busy trying to make sure Phillip’s mother got a jersey that fit and Kristoff had paled a little when met with the look on Emma’s face when he questioned her – but it was probably Merida’s doing and there was almost enough room in that office to get around easily.

Almost.

They still had to get through Casino Night and were still waiting on the video poker _thing_ to get there and Zelena was somewhere, probably pacing and making another list and Emma needed to get to the team suite so she could see the ice. She needed to make sure the carpet laid flat so Aurora stopped worrying about falling over.

She was really worried about falling over.

Machine. The word she’d been looking for before was machine. It was a video poker machine and they’d ordered four because that was, somehow, still cheaper than a new roulette table.

Killian’s hands wrapped around Emma’s shoulders, effectively holding her in place when she tried to starting pacing on instinct.

“I need you to take at least three actual, real deep breaths for me,” he said, and he didn’t let go, even when Emma twisted and wiggled and Matt was doing figure eights around three stacks of papers that detailed the Casino Night food orders.

Emma sighed, letting her head crash into his chest and that couldn’t have been good for his ribs because the right side of his body was still a little purple and changing the bandages that morning had been a very particular type of challenge.

Mostly because it involved Killian without a shirt on.

And doing whatever he’d done with his eyebrows and his mouth and Emma was still worried about _everything_ , but her husband was also kind of absurdly attractive and she kind of needed a distraction.

Not that that was a distraction.

God, that sounded awful even in her head.

Phillip’s ceremony would last fifteen minutes and, she was convinced, it would be the longest fifteen minutes of her life.

She could not remember if someone had given his mom a jersey.

Kristoff hadn’t actually said anything when they’d stormed into the locker room. Maybe Emma needed to find Anna. She could do something about Kristoff’s face.

Killian chuckled lightly, chest shaking against Emma’s forehead as he wrapped an around her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s not breathing, Swan,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Yeah, well, that’s because Phillip’s mom terrified me.”

“She was a little intense, huh?”  
  
Emma hummed, burrowing against him and that wasn’t good either, but he didn’t object and she knew he wouldn’t and maybe they both desperately needed a distraction. “No wonder Aurora’s so stressed out all the time. Did we ever find out what she was doing in Toronto?”  
  
“I’d imagine she lives there.”  
  
“Hysterical.”  
  
“That was not a joke. That was a straight fact. And also what Lucas told me when she, somehow, found her.”  
  
“I think she searched like Canadian census records,” Emma said. She hadn’t moved her head. Matt was still running in circles. That was not going to end well. “Does Canada have a census?”  
  
“I’d imagine they do,” Killian laughed, leaning back so Emma had to glance up and she wasn’t entirely prepared for the smile or whatever the hell he was doing with the rest of his face, but that was absurdly attractive too and this was going to be the longest fifteen minutes of her life.

“But,” Killian added. “I think Lucas made some calls to the league office and some kind of draft record and Phillip’s mother apparently splits her time in several Canadian cities and major metropolitan areas of Europe.”  
  
“Where does Lithuania fall into that?”  
  
“I think she was born there. Still holds citizenship. That means Rook can play international for them and never has to worry about getting cut from Team USA.”  
  
Emma let out a low whistle, Killian’s eyes widening slightly at the quasi-insult and they needed to get out of that office. They needed to get Peggy off the goddamn floor, but she kept squirming whenever one of them picked her up and crying when anyone held onto her for longer than four seconds and Emma understood that.

She kind of wanted to run a marathon.

“That was kind of harsh,” Emma muttered, Killian shrugging slightly like being the face of _that_ particular brand of hockey wasn’t much more than a passing thought. “Phillip’s mom is super intimidating and I don’t think Kristoff wanted to give her a jersey.”  
  
“No, he did.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“He did.”  
  
“When? I was standing there.”  
  
Killian made a contradictory noise, rocking his head slightly and he had to let go of her waist to catch a very energetic four-year-old around the middle before he practically flew out the door and into the hallway. Merida was trying to get Emma’s attention on her walkie-talkie.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, but she couldn’t quite get much of a threat in her voice. It was difficult to do that when Matt was laughing so loudly and he still hadn’t quite come to terms with a Rangers game that didn’t involve Killian, but he’d resolutely refused to wear any jersey except a Jones one when they left the apartment.

“It means you left the locker room because, one, Pegs is closing in on walking and won’t hold still for more than a few seconds so you didn’t want her in the middle of pre-game. And, two, that you also had to leave so you could hear Merida’s slightly frantic message about the carpet.”  
  
“You think the super-sonic hearing thing is just a result of growing up in the brownstone or you think you’re genetically blessed?”

Killian grinned, twisting Matt in his hold and tugging him up against his side. “Stay still for half a minute, Mattie,” he mumbled, eyes never leaving Emma’s and she really needed to stop swooning over her own husband.

Easier said than done.

“And I’m assuming you did something vaguely menacing and captain-like in between all of that? Also it’s entirely possible that she’s just frustrated by how loud this stupid arena is and not any closer to walking than she was a week ago.”  
  
“Ah, there’s no room for that kind of pessimism, Swan. Walking, skating, world domination. All within reach.”  
  
“You think she’s going to take over the world?” Emma arched an eyebrow, and Killian couldn’t really shrug when Matt was hanging off his shoulder, but his smile got wider and, probably, more powerful, but she did not have time to think about that.

Merida was screaming into the walkie-talkie.

“With that kind of upper-body strength? Of course.”  
  
“Is that a prerequisite?

“I think it probably helps,” Killian grinned. Matt kicked him in the shin, legs flailing and laughter still lingering in the air around them. Ruby had joined the walkie-talkie fray. “It’s only a matter of time, Swan. Weebling will become wobbling or however it works.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”  
  
He nodded seriously, but they were only an hour away from puck drop and she really was curious about what he’d done. “You going to finish your story, then?” she asked, tugging on the back of Matt’s jersey when it twisted against him. “Mattie, you’ve got to stop moving. You’re going to hurt Dad.”  
  
Matt stopped laughing abruptly, the sound almost echoing in Emma’s ears. She hissed in a breath of air, wincing when she realized what she said and even Peggy stopped crawling on the tiny bit of blanket that she just kept in one of her desk drawers.

They needed to stop putting Peggy on the floor in her office.

“Sorry,” Matt mumbled, burying his face into Killian’s neck and the letters all sounded like one elongated sound with a few added ‘w’ just to really drive the depressing point home. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, biting her lip and ignoring several walke-talkie based attacks and Killian shook his head when she met his gaze.

She hadn’t actually asked a question.

That absolutely did not matter.  

And one of Matt’s shoes had fallen off at some point.

“I’m fine, Mattie,” Killian promised, hitching his arm under their kid’s legs and trying to rest him on his hip instead of his side, but the kid in question was also four and far heavier than he had been a few years before.

“Emma,” Ruby screeched. She needed to turn the walkie-talkie volume down. She had no idea where Ruby got the walkie-talkie from.

She huffed, frustrated by another conversation that had, effectively, fallen off the metaphorical rails. “What? God, what could you possibly want right now?”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Retract the fangs or whatever.”

“Seriously, what is with you and the metaphors? That didn’t even make sense.”  
  
“Is that a metaphor? Cap, do you think that was a metaphor?”  
  
“How did you know Killian was here?” Emma asked sharply, and it wasn’t easy to try and hold a baby, a walkie-talkie and  
fold a blanket at the same time her mind was trying to remember if she’d told the Garden sound guy about the music he was supposed to play before the video tribute.

That couldn't have been the right word at all.

That sounded worse than memorial.

All of these words made Phillip sound like he was dead.

No wonder he didn’t want the ceremony.

“Please,” Ruby sighed. “Where else was he going to be? Pegs start walking around your office yet? She better not, I’m going to be really annoyed if it happens and I’m not there.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s not your call, really, Lucas,” Killian said. He pulled Peggy out of Emma’s arms, a kid holding onto either side of him and there were fingers in his hair and the front of his shirt and tie because he had to wear a tie to games on the off chance that the cameras panned to him in the team suite.

The cameras would absolutely pan to him in the team suite.

“And I absolutely do not care, Cap. Is someone going to answer my question or, like, what’s the deal with that?”  
  
“I honestly cannot remember it,” Emma muttered. She threw the blanket back on the floor, giving up on proper folds as soon as Killian glanced her direction and they were so far behind schedule it was almost comical.

Or it would have been if her pulse would settle down.

She wasn’t sure if that was entirely because of the ceremony or how _hardcore_ Phillip’s mom was or how ridiculously attracted she was to her own husband when said husband was being some kind of picture-perfect dad.

It was probably all of them.

Equally.

Not equally. The picture-perfect dad thing was definitely, at least, half. Maybe even like two thirds.

They all needed to get some kind of elementary school refresher from Mary Margaret.

“Ok, first of all, that’s rude,” Ruby started, and her voice sounded far closer than it should have. She smiled when they walked out of Emma’s office, the door slamming shut behind them and Killian groaned when some type of limb collided with a different part of his body. Matt barely slowed down, running towards Ruby as quick as he could and she almost didn’t keep her balance, crouching down to catch him and pull him towards her.

“Hey, mini-Jones,” Ruby said. Her walkie-talkie was on the ground. “How come you were hanging off your dad? You’re going to mess up his tie and he’s never going to fix it and then he’s going to look ridiculous on camera.”  
  
“Look who’s being rude now, Lucas.”  
  
Her smile didn’t change, hooking her chin over Matt’s shoulder so she could stare at them with a look that was nothing short of confident and certain and Ruby knew something.

No wonder she’d stolen a walkie-talkie.

“Did you take Merida’s?” Emma asked. “Or did you just find your own somewhere and make someone tell you what line we’re on?”  
  
“You know we’re a professional hockey team, right? We do have more than one walkie-talkie available for major events.”  
  
“Is this a major event?”  
  
“You planned it, Em.”  
  
Emma made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, leaning back when Killian managed to drift back into her space. Ruby scowled. “Don’t tell Rook that,” Killian said. “He’s freaking out enough as it is. Thinks the whole thing’s going to mess with his head and he’s going to embarrass everyone on the ice tonight.”

“He knows that’s ridiculous, right?”  
  
“Have you met his mom? Or his dad, for that matter? I’m surprised they both didn’t fly to South Korea to denounce his very existence when he didn’t win gold.”  
  
“Yeah, they’re kind of terrifying, right?” Ruby asked, and Emma didn’t think she imagined the way her arms tightened around Matt a bit.

“I didn’t meet his dad yet,” Emma admitted. “I’ve been kind of swamped. Is the carpet ready for the ice yet? Also seriously why did you take a walkie-talkie? And why are you here? Shouldn’t you be running pre-game?”  
  
“It’s less than an hour until puck drop, if there’s still media in the locker room, I’m pretty positive Arthur will just stab them with a skate.”  
  
“God.”  
  
“She’s got a point, Swan,” Killian muttered, an arm back around her shoulders and Peggy yanking on his tie. “Plus a three-game losing streak? Arthur’s probably broken several whiteboards already.”  
  
“Six,” Ruby answered lightly. She stood up, wincing when one of her knees cracked in the process, but she didn’t let Matt move away from her, resting both her hands on his shoulders and she was the single most frustrating person on the planet when she had information before anyone else.

Occupational hazard.

Ruby loved being the one to break news.

And lording it over everyone else.

“Six?” Killian repeated skeptically. “Why are that many whiteboards in the locker room?”  
  
“For reasons exactly like this, Cap. Obviously. Also, I didn’t steal any walkie-talkies because, as mentioned, we’ve got more than two walkie-talkies to our name and Merida would never actually admit to being frustrated by Emma’s tendency to ignore her.”  
  
“That was a very round about way to criticize,” Emma said. Killian kissed her hair.

“I’m not,” Ruby argued. “I agree with you about Rook’s parents and, I swear, his mom could probably get Gina to stop glaring because she absolutely does it better. But I also know you were up here, probably freaking out about all of this, and I am here to tell you that, a, it’s fine, b, it will continue to be fine and, three, you really need to get into the team suite because TV wants to camera pan to Cap at some point since he won’t be on the ice and it’s his linemate. Apparently we’re all in on team unity or something.”  
  
“Did you change from letters to numbers at the end just to frustrate me?”  
  
“And also because it’s hysterical.”  
  
“I promise, it’s not.”

Ruby made a face, shaking her head and pressing half a dozen kisses to Matt’s cheek when he started bobbing impatiently on the balls of his feet. “You look like your dad, but you are as prone to impatience as your mom, mini-Jones.”  
  
Emma groaned, but Ruby was unaffected by the whole thing and Killian might have mumbled _that’s true_ under his breath. “Traitor,” she accused, prying Peggy’s fingers away from his tie and his shirt and it only ended with her getting her hair tugged, but they really needed to get out of that hallway or Emma was going to kiss him with a very opinionated and slightly disgruntled audience around.

She still didn’t know if Phillip’s mom got her jersey.

“Also,” Ruby added, slamming her finger into the elevator button behind her. “Mary Margaret and David are here. Which is mostly the reason I showed up.”  
  
“So you weren’t just here to mock my event?”  
  
“Who do you think I am?”  
  
“You are you and prone to mocking. And I also know you weren’t just here to announce arrivals that I probably got text messages about anyway.”

“You actually check your phone?”  
  
“Absolutely not. I don’t even know where it is.”  
  
“In my pocket,” Killian said, stepping through the open elevator doors and they should just take his tie off. It was a hazard at this point. He shrugged when both Emma and Ruby gaped at him, a lopsided smile and a baby in his arms and that was ridiculous. Totally unfair. Emma didn’t really care about Phillip’s mom anymore. “I figured you’d need it eventually,” he reasoned. “And Mary Margaret texted me too because she knew Emma wouldn’t look at her phone. Banana'a here too.”  
  
“Did they come together?” Emma asked, not sure why that made her heart feel like it was exploding a little bit. It was surprisingly pleasant.

“Nah. Coincidental taxi crossover. Or so Banana told me.”  
  
“That’s very creative, although I’m not sure it really makes sense.”  
  
“Tell Banana that. I did already. It’ll make me sound way more convincing if we tag-team the argument.”  
  
Ruby gagged, Matt laughing into her side and it might have been the longest elevator ride in the world. Merida’s voice wasn’t quite clear on the walkie-talkie. “Gross,” Ruby announced, and Chase Square was already filled with fans when the elevator doors opened. There were far more Débleu jerseys than usual. “Seriously, Cap, fix your tie before they pan to you on TV or Anna will have even more reason to make fun of you than how obnoxiously into your wife you are.”  
  
“If that was supposed to be an insult, it fell a little flat, Lucas.”

“No, that was just a fact.”

Killian rolled his eyes, but did as instructed, a particularly impressive feat in the middle of a crowd that was very quick to recognize him. He smiled and nodded and took a handful of pictures before some security guard realized what was happening and directed them around the corner towards the player’s entrance.

They didn’t say anything more in the second elevator, Matt’s not-quite-quiet commentary about the Flames and the power play and _holding it in the zone_ like that was a phrase he understood. He absolutely understood it.

And Ruby’s eyes flickered towards Mary Margaret as soon as they walked into the team suite, Anna already making faces at Leo. “She’s a goddamn baby thief,” Killian mumbled, but the insult lost most of his edge when he started making his own faces at Peggy and Emma knew they were all keeping secrets.

“You might want to reconsider that when I’m fairly certain it’s hereditary,” Emma suggested.”  
  
“I’m not actually related to Banana.”  
  
“Shut up, KJ,” Anna yelled from the other side of the team suite, and Ruby was whispering something to Mary Margaret. “Also, hi, Emma!”  
  
“Hi, Anna,” Emma mumbled, smile tugging at her mouth without her explicit permission and there was carpet on the ice.

Ruby glanced at her. “I told you it’d be fine.”  
  
“Do not presume to know exactly what I’m thinking.”  
  
“I’m not. It’s another fact. Tell her, Cap.”  
  
“I’m not doing that, Lucas,” Killian said. “When are they going to pan to me? Is there an actual plan or you just letting TV order us around?”  
  
“You need to keep flirting with Emma so you’re not quite as abrasive. Or are you just super frustrated about how,” she covered both of Matt’s ears, “shitty the power play is without you in front of the net?”  
  
“You’re just wandering around throwing out opinions no one asked for, aren’t you?”  
  
“I’d repeat my last two questions, but that seems redundant.”  
  
“Let go of my kid’s head, please.”  
  
Anna chuckled, earning several confused glances and both teams were trying to do warmups with a goddamn carpet in the middle of the ice. “What?” she asked. “That was a funny sentence. And KJ does that whole snarl thing when he’s trying to use his captain voice. It’s hysterical when he thinks he’s some kind of authority.”  
  
“Only when you aren’t undermining it, Banana.”  
  
She stuck her tongue out.  
  
“Mer,” Emma said, yanking the walkie-talkie off her belt with enough force that she was slightly worried about the stitching of her clothes. “Did we agree the carpet was going to be out there for warmups? That seems like a pretty major hazard.”  
  
Merida didn’t answer.  
  
“Mer!”  
  
“Uh, yeah, yeah, boss, I’m here. And no, that was definitely not part of the plan.”  
  
Emma cursed a variety of different words that mostly just revolved around facilities spending a prolonged period of time in several different underworlds and she wished she knew more Norwegian. It always sounded more intimidating.

She’d started pacing at some point. Or, possibly, just jumping up and down and Mary Margaret knew something too. She kept licking her lips and staring at her shoes and back up at Emma like she wanted to shout several headlines in her face – a move she’d already done in the last twenty-four hours because the New York media contingent had several metaphorical field days with Killian’s press conference.

And maybe Emma had watched it more than once.

Maybe she hoped that wasn’t as crazy as she was worried it absolutely was.

It was romantic.

Whatever.

They’d gotten the carpet on the ice too early.

“How did that happen?” Emma demanded, glancing around the room like any of them would be able to answer. Peggy almost tripped over her own feet, standing in the middle of the team suite with her arms above her head and hands wrapped up in Killian’s and that was more than enough for some of the fight to fall out of Emma.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to calm me down with our own kid,” she grumbled.

Killian grinned. And Mary Margaret might have sniffled. She, at least, took her phone out. “Is it working?”

“Kind of. Depends on what Reese’s and Ruby are gossiping about.”  
  
“There is no gossip,” Mary Margaret promised, but even Anna laughed at the obvious lie and David winced as if it physically pained him to hear those words. “What? C’mon, there’s not!”  
  
“You should have practiced that some more, Reese’s.”  
  
“She did,” David mumbled. Anna laughed louder.

“Aw, that’s not fair at all,” Mary Margaret sighed, slumping into a chair with her legs hanging over the side and it felt a bit like junior year of college and watching the Rangers in their dorm because David stole the remote. Only with a much bigger carpet disaster.

Emma hoped they hadn’t reached disaster level yet.

“M’s, did you honestly practice telling Emma a lie before you got up here?” Ruby asked, smile taking up half her face. She’d let go of Matt at some point, letting him run towards the glass and start shouting cheers that Roland and Henry had undoubtedly taught him over the Christmas break.

“No,” Mary Margaret said. “No! That would be insane.”  
  
“And we’re certainly not insane,” Killian muttered. He pulled the walkie-talkie out of Emma’s hands, turning the volume down, which, honestly was probably for the best because she still kept listening to her music too loud and she was very likely doing irreparable damage to her eardrums or something.

Mary Margaret nodded. “Absolutely not. Your tie is crooked.”  
  
“Pegs is a menace.”  
  
“With some honestly ridiculous lower-body strength. She start running around yet?”

“God, stop suggesting that we’re looming close to walking,” Emma groaned. She stuffed the walkie-talkie back in her pocket and they were all professional hockey players, they could skate around the goddamn carpet. As long as Aurora didn’t fall over later, she didn’t care.

“It’s got to be close though, right?” Mary Margaret pressed, and _that_ inflection wasn’t right either. Emma narrowed her eyes.  
  
“What did you bet on?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Is that what the gossiping is about? And why Rubes was so mad at the thought of Pegs walking without her being there to confirm it? Did this team bet on Peggy’s first steps?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Try again, Reese’s. “  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh, that was worse than the last time,” Ruby sighed, leaning against the door behind her. “M’s, you’ve really got to get better at this. We can’t deal with the garbage lying for the rest of our lives. It’s just going to be exhausting.”  
  
“That doesn’t seem like a problem?”  
  
“Yeah,” David agreed. “Maybe we shouldn't be advocating better lying. Aren’t we supposed to be the responsible ones? Also, Em, stop glaring at all of us. It’s not that big of a deal. This is...familial and fun. And I’ve got to pay for Rol’s onion rings again later, so you can deal with this.”  
  
“That will cost you twenty bucks, tops,” Emma seethed, twisting away from Killian’s arm when he tried to rest his hand on her shoulder again. And, really, she wasn’t that upset. She wasn’t even angry. She was, admittedly, kind of charmed by the whole, stupid thing and no one could tell Mary Margaret anything.

But she’d almost lost track of how many times she’d watched Killian’s presser and the headlines weren’t bad, were almost complimentary, and every time Emma thought about the league offer again, she was a little worried her brain was actually going to explode.

They all needed to stop making brain jokes.

It was tactless.

“That’s twenty bucks I don’t want to spend feeding a ravenous teenager,” David grumbled. “But, seriously, no sign of walking? Just standing up with Cap’s help?”  
  
“That’s still pretty impressive,” Killian argued.  
  
“I’m not disputing that. I’m just trying to save my investment.”  
  
“How much you got riding on this exactly, Sergeant?” Emma asked, glancing at the ice when the players started working their way off it and they were running out of time for witty banter. Matt was not particularly pleased warmups were over. He kept trying to shoot at the glass.

David leveled her with an even stare, the visual embodiment of _older brother_ and Emma bit her tongue so she didn’t dissolve into slightly stressed-out hysterics. “That’s not information you need to be aware of.”

“It’s my kid though, so…”

“And,” Mary Margaret added brightly. “That’s not even remotely what the gossip was about. You guys go in the locker room yet?”  
  
Ruby groaned, sliding down the door into a less-than-professional heap and Emma could also see the color leaving Mary Margaret’s face. That was almost kind of funny too. “Oh, shit,” Mary Margaret muttered.

Emma gasped. Killian tensed next to her, head snapping from Emma to each of their kids and back again like he was checking they were still there and still fine and she really couldn’t be blamed for whatever sense of dread landed in the pit of her stomach.

It had been that kind of month.

“M’s, seriously, if you didn’t bring cookies to this game, I would say some really horrible things right to your face,” Ruby said.

“You brought cookies to this hockey game?” Emma asked. Mary Margaret shrugged, and appeared to be trying to melt into the chair she was still sitting in. “How did you get those in the Garden?”

“That security guard downstairs totally knows us now.”  
  
“And she bribed him with a cookie,” David mumbled, grinning when Mary Margaret snapped her head around to stare at him.

Emma laughed, head falling against Killian’s shoulder and both Ruby and Matt stuck their tongues out when he kissed her hair. “That’s the most Mary Margaret Nolan thing I’ve ever heard. I’m surprised the pigeons on 34th Street didn’t join in the whole thing and serenade the guy with several songs.”  
  
“That’d just make him fall asleep,” Anna pointed out. “He always kind of looks like he’s falling asleep, doesn’t he?”  
  
“To serve and protect,” Ruby intoned. She was still on the floor.

And the ceremony had started.

The music went off without a hitch, or something less than lame than the word _hitch_ and Emma breathed an audible sigh of relief when it transitioned perfectly into the video montage. That was a much better word than tribute.

Anna chuckled when they showed Phillip getting drafted, highlights from his rookie season and they pointedly ignored the incident with Soyer and injuries and Mary Margaret sniffled again when they got to back-to-back Stanley Cup victories and smiles and parades that weren’t really _that_ much work.

They were fun.

Emma wanted another Stanley Cup parade.

Killian didn’t move – an arm slung around Emma’s shoulders and Peggy’s fingers gripping his tie – but his fingers started drifting in between her shoulder blades when they showed the Olympics and the whole, stupid video finished with Phillip scoring in Chicago and lifting the second Stanley Cup and she turned towards him before she remembered the inevitable camera pan.

“Holy shit,” Ruby breathed. “We did actually get her a jersey.”  
  
Emma’s head jerked back to the ice, lips parted and she had no excuse for whatever her breathing was doing, panting slightly like she’d run that marathon she’d been hoping for.

Killian kept staring ahead. But his tongue darted between his lips and he muttered something to Peggy when she yanked harder on a tie that was almost perfectly Rangers blue.

“Did you do that?” Emma asked quietly. The jersey wasn’t a perfect replica of the ones Aurora and Phillip’s dad were wearing – the laces weren’t perfectly tied and Emma thought she noticed a tiny rip at the end of the right sleeve, but it was a jersey and, really, at this point, that was all any of them could ask for.

“Killian,” Emma prompted, and he blinked. “Did you threaten Kristoff in the middle of the locker room and make him give Phillip’s mom a game-worn jersey?”  
  
“I didn’t know it’d be game worn.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“And I didn’t really threaten him either, so take at least five-thousand steps back, Banana. Also if you got here on time, you definitely could have helped.”  
  
“That’s like insider trading or something, KJ,” Anna challenged, but Emma’s mind was still kind of reeling and Phillip’s mom was smiling. Beaming, in fact.

Aurora hadn’t tripped on the carpet.

“That’s not even remotely what that is,” Killian argued. “But it didn’t really matter. I think Rook’s mom was angry she thought she was going to miss it or not be allowed on the ice--”  
  
“--I wouldn’t do that,” Emma interrupted.

“Aurora might have. But, yeah, she’s incredibly intimidating and apparently a very respected museum curator or something and it’s a very strange family dynamic and I just told Kristoff to give her something from the last home game.”  
  
“And how much convincing did that require?” Anna asked archly.

“Not a lot.”  
  
“You and Reese’s should have lying competitions,” Emma mumbled, smiling when Mary Margaret clicked her tongue in reproach. She’d finally sat up straight, feet on the ground and Leo on her leg and they hadn’t figured out what the gossip was. They needed Elsa to schedule literally every conversation.

“Not a lie, Swan,” Killian said. “An amendment.”  
  
David scoffed. “That’s not the word you’re looking for either.”

“I think we really need a refresher on the English language, Reese’s,” Emma said. “Like maybe before Casino Night.”  
  
“That’s not a very long time,” Mary Margaret laughed. Phillip was kissing Aurora on the cheek, a blush on his face that absolutely had everything to do with the literal spotlight on them and there were cameras on the ice and a very loud PA announcement and people were standing and clapping and Emma didn’t really think before she turned.

It was, she’d eventually argue, partially because he wouldn’t let go of their kids and partially because he’d saved the jersey incident and partially because he was just _really stupid good looking_ , but it was mostly because she was more in love with him than she’d been the first time he’d saved one of her events and the headlines were going to be absurd.

She had to press up on her toes because she already had enough to worry about without thinking of blisters on her heels, and Killian’s breath hitched when Emma’s lips pressed against his. It wasn’t particularly easy or a particularly good angle – one kid clinging to his very bruised ribs and the other less than pleased that his parents were making out in public spaces _again_ – but Emma couldn’t bring herself to care.

It was a very good distraction.

It still wasn’t a distraction.

It was...her life.

That was such a dramatic thought.

Her fingers found the back of Killian’s hair, the smile clear on his face even as he kept kissing her and his hand landed on top of her ring when it fell over the front of her shirt.

“I love you,” she mumbled against him. She should have worn heels. It would have made all of this easier.

Killian laughed softly, hair falling across his forehead and breath warm against the curve of her jaw when his mouth moved there. “I love you too, Swan.”  
  
“Hey, uh, guys,” Ruby muttered, nodding to the closest TV screen and Killian cursed in Norwegian.

“Don’t repeat that,” he said immediately, glancing at Matt who was already doing just that.

They’d clearly cut away from them quickly – probably scandalized several truck operators at MSG in the process – but they’d also clearly been making out on the game broadcast and Phillip was quite obviously trying to stare at the team suite from the ice.

He looked like he was laughing.  

Ruby snickered. Anna might have been guffawing. And on her phone. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “No, that totally just happened. I was sitting right here, El. No, of course they didn’t plan it. I don’t know KJ was staring at Emma like she built the Earth or something.”

“The Earth didn’t get built,” Mary Margaret corrected. “If you want to get technical. The Big Bang kind of formed it and then everything evolved out of there.”  
  
“See, this is the kind of things we need a refresher on,” Emma said, but she could feel the heat on her face and Killian kept running his hand through his hair. She sighed, closing her eyes and she could hear her phone ringing. It was still in Killian’s pocket. “I need that,” she muttered.

He grimaced when he dropped it in her outstretched palm. “Swan, this is--”  
  
“No, no, this is...if the worst thing that ever happens to us again is making out on camera for an unscheduled pan, then I think we’ve won some kind of metaphorical lottery.”  
  
Emma stared meaningfully at Ruby, a smile lingering on her face as she held both hands up in mock surrender. “If Zelena is pissed, I’ll take full responsibility for the pan. Unscheduled or otherwise.”  
  
“Your mercy knows no bounds.”  
  
“Stop making out everywhere.”

“I’ve got to go deal with this,” Emma muttered, phone shaking in her grip.

Killian hummed, the hint of a smirk on his face and it was actually kind of funny. If funny was actually ridiculous and absurd and Liam was probably calling his phone too. “We’ll be fine, love.”

He kissed her again, quick and easy and Emma’s smile didn’t feel as out of place as it probably should have.

The entire suite shouted _get out of here_ at once.

And, really, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. Zelena had to keep pausing so she wouldn’t laugh when she was using her _powerful_ voice and Emma’s stomach stayed exactly where it was supposed for the entire conversation, feet propped up on the edge of her desk as she was reminded about _professionalism_ and _the brand_ and she hummed in agreement at least seventeen different times.

She didn’t actually apologize once.

She wasn’t really sorry.

And she wasn’t really ready for the knock on her office door.

“Hey,” Henry grinned, leaning against the half-open doorway with his feet crossed at the ankles and the move was almost _too_ Killian. Emma laughed loudly, swinging her feet back onto the floor and practically leaping across the space.

Henry didn’t stumble when Emma crashed into him, far taller than she was still entirely used to with hair that probably infuriated Regina daily, but he hugged her back tightly.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked. “Are you supposed to be here? Did I know you were going to be here? Are you the gossip that Ruby and Reese’s were talking about. Were you in the locker room before?”  
  
“God, that was like eighty-six questions at once. And no to all of them actually. This was kind of a spur of the moment thing so I could see Phillip’s ceremony and be here for Casino Night.”  
  
“I didn’t get you a ticket to Casino Night.”  
  
“I’m pretty positive Merida did.”  
  
“God, she should just be running the whole department at this point, it’d be so much more efficient.”  
  
Henry clicked his tongue, brows pulled low in something that was an almost _too_ obvious disagreement and Emma had to blink to remind herself that the kid in front of her was actually an eighteen-year-old and kind of an adult and she always forgot how tall he was.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, tugging lightly on the front of his team-branded t-shirt to pull him further into her office. He let a quiet _whoa_ when he saw the small explosion of paperwork, sinking down into an open chair as Emma perched on the front of her desk. “It was worse a couple days ago, honestly.”  
  
“I find that very hard to believe.”  
  
“How long have we known each other?”  
  
“Ah, yeah, that’s true,” Henry grinned. He crossed his arms, expression steady when Emma lifted her eyebrows. “You ok?”  
  
“Depends on how much you know.”  
  
“Probably way more than I should.”  
  
“You’ve always been a very good eavesdropper,” Emma said, and she could almost feel her metaphorical and literal heart strings being tugged. “You get a tux for Casino Night? Oh God, are you bringing a date?”  
  
“Of course I got a tux for Casino Night? Did Killian? Rol said he hadn’t yet.”  
  
“That was the less interesting question.”  
  
“That’s because you sound like Mom.”  
  
Emma scrunched her nose, working another laugh out of Henry and he was better at imitating Killian’s eyebrow _thing_ than anyone else. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that. Seriously. A date? You’re bringing a date. She a Ranger fan?”  
  
“It’d be weird to bring her to Casino Night if she wasn’t.”

Emma wasn’t sure what noise, exactly, she made in response to that, but it kind of sounded like a yelp and a screech and the general, vocal embodiment of excitement and Henry drooped in his chair. “Did you meet her at school?”  
  
“In my creative writing class.”  
  
“You read anything she’s written?”  
  
“Why does this seem like an interrogation?”  
  
“It’s not,” Emma argued. “End of the season presser at the worst.”  
  
“Yeah, we’re well acquainted with pressers now, aren’t we?”  
  
“Oh that lacked a distinct sense of subtlety. Scarlet-esque. You’re usually much better than that.”

“I’m going to tell Will you said that.”

“Ah, don’t do that,” Emma sighed. “I’m never going to hear the end of it. And he’s probably got like ten bucks on when Peggy’s going to walk.”  
  
Henry shook his head, smile a little more tremulous, but still a hint confident and Emma was breathing out of her mouth. She should have put the game on in her office. “It’s more like fifty,” Henry said. “I think they’re all trying to avoid how worried they are about Killian. Focus on something good instead, you know?”  
  
“That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“It’s nice. It’s proper family. Which is why I don’t think you should take this league job.”  
  
Emma was glad she was sitting down, gripping the front of her desk a little tighter and she was only a little surprised her eyes did not, in fact, fall out of her head. “Jumping right into the deep end of it, aren’t we?”  
  
“That’s not true at all. We hugged, we bantered a little, you interrogated me.”  
  
“That’s not what happened! How do you even know about this job?”

“Rol asked Mom if you were going to leave on the cab ride from JFK.”  
  
“God, that’s playing dirty,” Emma sighed, but Henry just shifted his eyebrows and smiled wider. He’d been taking lessons from Killian, she was sure. “Why don’t you think I should take the job?”

“Because you don’t want it.”  
  
“You’re skating on very thin ice, kid.”  
  
Henry rolled his eyes, but he sat up a little straighter – staring at Emma with a look she hadn’t seen in _years_ , not since he was terrified Regina and Robin might send him back or decide they didn’t actually want him and she had to swallow to stop herself from crying.

Again.

God.

“You’d be great at it, Emma,” Henry said. “And it’d be so good. So it probably makes me a selfish asshole when I--”  
  
“--Hey,” she snapped. He rolled his eyes again.

“I’m in college, you don’t have to correct my speaking patterns.”  
  
“Tough luck. Keep talking.”

He saluted. “You’d be great at it, but this is...you can do all that here. You already have. Hell, look at me. Look at every GD kid you’ve ever done anything for. You can inspire things here and inspire people here and no one wants you to leave the Garden, Emma. It’s...did Merida already tell you it’s your team too?”  
  
“How do you know that?”

“A very lucky guess, actually. And because everyone thinks that. And also because I think you could do more here.”  
  
“That’s a very strong opinion.”  
  
Henry shrugged, shaking his hair off his forehead. He didn’t blink. He didn’t say anything else. He kept looking at Emma with a sense of confidence he’d had in her since he was twelve because Emma had the same in him and time was, apparently, some kind of flat circle.

“I know it’s a good offer, Emma,” Henry whispered. “But this is…”  
  
“Home?” she chanced, and he nodded, ducking his gaze to the ground when she noticed the bit of moisture in the corner of his eye. Emma leaned forward, pulling his hands away from his thighs and lacing her fingers through his, squeezing tightly.  
“You’re a incredibly smart guy, you know that?”

“Sometimes.”  
  
“Eh.”  
  
“With one hell of a mouth on him,” Emma added, brushing a kiss over the top of his forehead. “So, what’s your date’s name? You going to wear matching outfits?”  
  
Henry did, eventually, answer, most, of Emma’s questions – drawing the line at home many dates he and Maddie had been, but she wasn’t even counting on getting a name, so that felt like a victory. Which was good since the Rangers did not get one.

Again.

And that probably shouldn’t have made her happy, but she’d been caught making out on live TV already that night, so she figured her maturity was kind of fluid at this point.

Will cackled as soon as they walked into the restaurant, nearly falling off his stool and earning a frustrated look from both Aurora and Phillip’s mother and they were going to have to let her keep that game-used jersey.

Kristoff wouldn’t appreciate that.

But that all seemed to fall by several different waysides when Arthur appeared in front of them, a pinch between his eyebrows that was understandable since the power play still looked like several different Norwegian curse words.

“I’ve been looking for you, Jones,” Arthur announced. Killian’s eyes darted towards Emma, letting Anna pull Peggy out of his arms and she absolutely leaned against his side when he pulled her there.

“I was in the locker room before, Arthur.”

“Placating whatever Phillip’s mother’s name is.”  
  
“God, that is almost too abrasive even for you,” Emma muttered. Arthur barely made a noise.

“Four in a row, Emma. Four in a row. Have you seen our power play? He may be getting pre-game ceremonies, but Phillip’s shit at screening goal.”  
  
Killian groaned. “My kids are here, Arthur. Try and remember where you are. How many whiteboards you break tonight?”  
  
“Not important. I’m here to offer you a deal.”  
  
“Excuse me? Do you even have the power to do that?”  
  
“And shouldn’t Gina be dealing with that?” Emma asked, blinking when Regina appeared as suddenly as if she’d been summoned. She glared at Arthur.

“I don’t know and I don’t particularly care,” he said. “Regina, you can disagree if you want, this is what’s happening.”  
  
“You haven’t even said anything, Arthur,” Killian pointed out.  
  
“I want you to advise. The team. Or something that sounds less official because I do actually think it’s against your contract.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“What part of that was confusing?”  
  
“All of it.”  
  
Arthur sighed in frustration, waving both his hands through the air as Regina continued to glare at him. “The power play is God awful,” he muttered. “Husinger hasn’t recorded a point since you punched him and I don’t want you to talk to him really, but if you’re just going to sit in the team suite and get us sued by the FCC then you might as well be occupying your time better.”  
  
“You’re not going to get sued by the FCC,” Regina mumbled. And that was probably more for Emma than Killian.

“Can I do that?” Killian asked.

“Who are you directing that question to?”  
  
“You’re my agent!”  
  
Regina made a dismissive noise, lips twisted slightly and Killian’s arm tightened around Emma’s waist. “As long as Arthur doesn’t use the word _advisor_ ever again. IR doesn’t stop you from participating in team events. You can tell them how to play hockey as long as you’re not the one playing hockey or punching anyone else.”  
  
“That was rather pointed, Gina.”  
  
“Those phone calls lasted for hours and I’m still dealing with presser repercussions.”  
  
“Were there a lot of those?” Emma asked sharply, but Killian muttered some kind of disagreement before she’d finished the question.

He took a deep breath, fingers toying with the belt loop that no longer had a walkie-talkie attached to it and Emma needed to buy Merida several drinks. “You just want me to...what, Arthur? Help make the team better?”  
  
“Obviously,” Arthur snapped. “Did you watch that power play?”  
  
“Yeah, it looked like garbage.”  
  
“Exactly. Don’t punch anyone, we won’t use the wrong terminology and maybe we won’t embarrass ourselves before the end of the season.”  
  
“Aiming high, huh?”

“Cap,” Will cried from the other side of the restaurant at the same time Anna screeched “KJ!” and Emma knew she shouldn’t use his shoulder as leverage, but he kind of lifted her up too and Regina gasped loudly when she saw it first.

“I totally won,” Roland yelled. “I told you guys it was going to be tonight!”

He was standing on a chair, Ariel’s hand hovering behind him as Matt and Dylan hit a puck against the closest wall, and they’d moved half a dozen tables out of the way.

It wasn’t really _walking_ , but it was definitely more than wobbling and Emma wasn’t sure either she or Killian had ever moved that fast. They both crouched down as soon as they moved into the open space, arms outstretched as Robin moved behind Peggy, careful not to get too close and disturb the slightly shaky balance she’d found.

Mary Margaret had her phone out, tears on her cheeks while Ruby shouted encouragements and Emma was glad for both because her mind couldn’t quite process the rush of endorphins it was currently dealing with.

The whole restaurant turned to them – cheers echoing as loudly as they had during Phillip’s ceremony and Emma didn’t realize she was crying until David handed her a goddamn napkin. And that wasn't really going to help her when Killian muttered “c’mon, little love, just one foot in front of the other.”

She absolutely did not understand the instructions, but she did it anyway, tottling forward until Killian’s hands pulled her against his chest and they all exploded into a noise that could only be classified as pure joy.

Emma might have been sobbing.

Mary Margaret definitely was.

“You did so good,” Killian said softly, holding onto Peggy tightly and there wasn’t much baby to kiss, but Emma worked with what she had.

“I’ll take my money now, please,” Roland said, grinning like he’d won that previously discussed lottery.

“How much did you get?” Emma asked.

Will didn’t look at Killian when he answered. “Probably a couple hundred dollars, honestly.”  
  
Her laugh wasn’t so much that as it was just even more joy, but Emma was certain everything switched, _again_ , in that moment and she kissed Peggy’s arm before she did something stupid like shout several brand-new life plans at all of them.

She said it quietly instead.

“You should do it.”  
  
Killian blinked. “What?”  
  
“Advise or not that word. As long as there are no punches thrown. That power play is painful to watch now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded, pulse thumping at the quiet hope in his voice and the squirming, now-walking baby in his arms. “You think we can get her to walk again? I think Reese’s video is probably a little shaky.”  
  
“Rude,” Mary Margaret said. “But also probably accurate.”  
  
Killian smiled – slow and easy and he’d taken off his tie before Henry and Emma got back to the team suite. “We can absolutely do that, Swan,” he said, a promise without actually saying it.

And Elsa screamed into the phone when Emma sent her the non-shaky video of Peggy walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for clicking and reading and saying nice things. Come flail on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if you're down


	12. Chapter 12

“You’re going to choke him.”  
  
“No, I am not!”  
  
“I think he’s kind of turning blue.”  
  
“Then he’s going to match the color scheme.”  
  
Elsa laughed – loud and surprised and Killian tried to glare at Anna, but she did have a tie around his neck and it was, actually, pretty tight and this was not the first time she’d tried to do this. “You know, I can do this, Banana,” he said, but that wasn’t the first time he’d said that either and it all kind of felt like a trend.

Anna didn’t answer, just leveled him with a stare that felt a bit like a warning and he had to jump back to make sure her foot didn’t collide with his shin. “Now, you’re really going to kill him,” Elsa muttered. “You better stop moving, KJ. It’s going to be difficult to get to Casino Night if your trachea is bent in half.”  
  
“A lovely image,” he mumbled, taking a step back into Anna’s space and it couldn’t have been comfortable for her to stand there that long. She kept dropping back on her heels, huffing slightly and leaning back like she was examining him and how he’d look with the color scheme of Casino Night.

Elsa shrugged, or he assumed she did, he couldn’t keep turning his head towards the phone propped up on the vaguely ancient dresser in the corner of the room. She’d moved at some point, sinking into the corner of the couch in Colorado with her chin resting on her knees and her own very specific type of look on her face.

To their credit, neither Anna nor Elsa had actually expressed much of an opinion about anything since he’d walked into the room. There was no talk of the press conference or whatever word they were actually going to use for whatever Killian was actually going to do for the Rangers for the rest of the season and he had no doubt they both knew, but there hadn’t really been any time for any of that.

He and Emma had walked into brownstone that afternoon – dress bags and tux bags and incredibly excited kids in hand – and it had taken, exactly, three seconds for Anna to declare she was _going to help_ and Killian barely had a chance to process those words in that specific order before he was being marched upstairs and the door was closing behind him.

Elsa had already been on the phone.

He would have been impressed by the efficiency of it, if it also wasn’t slightly overwhelming.

“I’m just saying,” Elsa mumbled, a not-so-quiet scoff in the background. Her eyes flitted away from the phone, smile tugging at the ends of her lips and she shook her head once.

“El.”  
  
“KJ.”  
  
“Why are you communicating silently with Liam?”  
  
“Because I’m capable of doing that with Liam.”  
  
“You got an opinion you want to share, El?”  
  
“I’ve got several thousand opinions I want to share, KJ, but it’s Casino Night and Anna’s trying to strangle you, so I’m biting my tongue.”  
  
“Metaphorically,” Anna added, still on tiptoes and maybe he should have sat down for this. That probably would have just made it easier for her to choke him.

“Eh, not really,” Liam corrected. He dropped next to Elsa, team-branded t-shirt on and thoughts practically radiating off him. Through the phone lines. Or the cloud. Or something. Killian tried to pull the tie out of Anna’s hands. It didn’t work.

“KJ, I swear to God, if you don’t stop yanking on this, I’m going to actually do damage to your shin,” she hissed.

He narrowed his eyes, but that was almost as pointless as arguing any of this and Elsa was definitely biting her tongue. Literally.

“I can see your jaw moving, El,” Killian said, waving a hand towards the phone. She groaned. Or possibly growled. Anna chuckled. “You’re incredibly bad at all of this, you know that?”  
  
“That is not true at all,” she argued. Liam was the one biting his tongue now. And the instructional tie video Anna had pulled up on her laptop had stopped playing. They’d made no progress at all.

“I mean, it’s a little true,” Anna muttered. “KJ, do you have another tie?”  
  
“No, Banana, I do not.”  
  
“You didn’t want to bring options? I think there’s something wrong with this one.”  
  
“There is nothing wrong with this tie. You are just incredibly bad at this.” He pulled her hands away, widening his eyes when she opened her mouth to argue and Liam snickered when she fell back on the ground again. “You’ve given it a valiant effort, Banana.”  
  
“Just a little wide of the net,” Liam laughed, and Elsa had moved again, legs draped over his and a slightly different look on her face and Killian wasn’t sure how he knew, but it probably had something to do with childhood and secret languages and sneaking onto the uptown one together so many times.

“That wasn’t even clever,” Anna sighed. She collapsed back onto Killian’s bed, an inexplicable amount of blankets and pillows still on it and that did something particular to his pulse too, but it might have also had something to do with the laughter he could hear coming from downstairs and he was, at least, ninety-three percent certain Mr. Vankald was playing hockey with Matt.

Liam shook his head. “Definitely clever. I’ll give you not making much sense in context, but clever. And appropriate humor for Casino Night.”

“Can you be clever while you’re still wrong?”  
  
“I don’t know. Ask Scarlet when you see him later.”

Anna didn’t lift her head up, but her lips quirked and her shoulders shook slightly and Liam looked triumphant. “I think that means you just called Scarlet clever, Liam,” she pointed out, working a slightly despondent groan out of him.

“Ah, shit, you’re right. Don’t tell him I said that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”  
  
And really, that shouldn’t have been what did it. Killian wasn’t even sure what _it_ was, but Anna had been adamant about the tie thing and Elsa kept chewing on her tongue and looking like _that_ and he really needed to finish getting ready.

“Your face is going to get stuck like that, KJ,” Elsa warned quietly. She smiled when he looked at her, hair twisted around her fingers and Liam slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side like that would make whatever it was they were trying to do easier.

“You guys should have flown in for Casino Night,” Killian said. “Then you could have done this in person and Emma would have someone to get ready with.”  
  
“Is she getting ready by herself?”  
  
“Well, Banana was busy trying to strangle me, so--”  
  
“--Oh my God, KJ, you are the most dramatic person in the world,” Anna grumbled. She was still laying down, reaching blindly to her left for a pillow. He dodged it when she threw it at his chest. “And your reflexes are stupid.”  
  
“That’s an occupational hazard,” Liam reasoned, but the words sounded strained and a little forced and Killian knew it didn’t have anything to do with the cloud. He wasn’t even sure the cloud was part of a FaceTime phone call.

Probably not.

That wouldn’t have made sense.

“And you’re not entirely right,” Elsa added. Killian twisted, wincing when _something_ cracked in the process. “You should talk to Ariel about that. Maybe you’re walking too much.”  
  
“I’m not walking at all,” he said, waving a hand through the air like that explained that and it kind of did because his ribs were still a little bruised and Regina had already made several pointed comments about the state of his eye and how it would look on camera that night.

And then told him to _avoid that Husinger ass at all costs_.

“When does that change?”  
  
“Probably when my ribs aren’t purple.”  
  
“Purple?”

“Blue,” he corrected. “‘Ish. A little green. But that’s healthy, right? On the way to healing.” Elsa did not look impressed. He grinned at the camera, twisting the tie that was still hanging around his neck. “And just a little sore, but Red’s got other stuff to worry about besides me. They’re in the middle of a season and--”  
  
“--And a coaching change,” Elsa finished.

Killian tilted his head. “Well, that was kind of blunt. I didn’t actually tell Arthur I’d do it yet. How’d you find out?”  
  
“Would you like it in alphabetical order or by the order in which I received phone calls and texts?”  
  
“Both? That’s quite an attack.”  
  
“It wasn’t an attack.”  
  
“It was an informational overload,” Liam amended, shrugging slightly. “And Locksley thinks you should do it. He doesn’t want to risk sending you film anymore.”

“I’m still on the team,” Killian said. “What was the order?”  
  
“Locksley called me, mostly because both Henry and Rol overheard Arthur talking about it to Guinevere and then proceeded to shout about it for, and I’m quoting here, several hours of insanity.” Killian scoffed, but he knew it was probably exactly that and it had probably taken even longer for them to stop talking about it. “And,” Liam continued, “we both heard from Lucas because you’re a good story and she can’t help but shout about those things from several metaphorical rooftops.”  
  
“You’re really dragging this out Liam,” Anna mumbled, but it was difficult to hear her when she’d pulled a pillow into her arms, speaking mostly into the fabric.

“I am playing to my audience.”  
  
“Yeah, well, it’s getting boring and I’ve got to get ready so if we could pick up the pace and stick to the script.”  
  
“I knew it,” Killian yelled, catching the pillow Anna threw. “Banana, I swear if you keep throwing things at me, I’m going to carry you out of this room, lock the door and tell Emma not to let you into Casino Night.”  
  
She hummed, clearly unaffected by his threat, and it wasn’t much of a threat because he’d definitely fuck up his ribs that way. He didn’t have time for Ariel to kill him. He had teammates to avoid and kids to explain brownstone rules to and a Casino Night to enjoy while making sure Emma didn’t forget to actually eat at some point.

She’d made enough lists about the food, she deserved to get some it.

And he and Merida had a deal.

“I mean, we weren’t really trying to be subtle about it,” Elsa mumbled. She didn’t blink when Killian glared at the phone screen. “Seriously, KJ. Frozen. Bad pictures. An incredibly stressed out wife.”  
  
“That’s got nothing to do with my face.”  
  
"Eh…” He sighed, but her smile just widened – a knowing look that only ever led to opinions and judgments and he hoped they stuck to the schedule for the rest of the conversation. “And she’s not getting ready by herself.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“KJ, are you serious? You think we’d force Emma to get ready for Casino Night by herself?”

“You are not actually here, El. You’re just some slightly critical voice several time zones away.”  
  
“That was actually kind of mean. You eat yet? Is that the problem?”  
  
“Oh my God,” Killian groaned, running a hand over his face and he couldn’t actually threaten Liam from a few thousand miles away, but that was becoming less and less important the more and more his brother kept laughing at him.

“Liam, you’ve got to stop making that noise,” Anna said, propping herself up on her elbows. “KJ looks like he’s going to explode or try and check his own dresser.”

“Nah, he’s not going to do that,” Liam objected. “There are several reasons for that. You better be listening little brother because I’m about to do some seriously good analysis.” Killian flipped off the phone camera. Liam  laughed again.

“Alright,” he started. “First of all, he can’t check the dresser because he’ll hurt himself again and he’s far too aware of what that would do his Emma’s psyche. Two, he literally can’t move that quickly. Three, he doesn’t want Gina or Ariel to embarrass him in public if they find out he did that. Three, like, sub-a, he doesn’t want that to happen at Emma’s event because he knows how hard she’s worked on Casino Night. Four--”  
  
“--How could there possibly be more?” Killian yelled, He tugged on his hair, glancing around the room like any of them would provide him an answer. None of them did. He hadn’t really expected them to.

He could hear a puck hitting baseboards downstairs.

“Four,” Elsa repeated, sitting up a bit straighter and her eyes might have been trying to see through Killian’s soul when she stared at him. “You’ve already decided you’re going to do this not-actually-advising thing all season and we’d really like to know if you told Emma yet.”  
  
Killian blinked. He glanced around the room again – matching looks on all three of the faces staring at him, a little expectant and a little cautious and he shouldn’t have been surprised they knew, but they’d all been pretty damn good at reading each other’s minds from the very beginning.

Anna kicked the bedspread.

Mrs. Vankald kept the bedspread in his room.

“Cool trick,” Killian mumbled, grabbing the phone and sinking onto the edge and the mattress creaked when Anna moved. She draped over his back, a move that wasn’t doing any of his bruises any favors, but he knew he didn’t really have a choice and it was almost kind of comforting. Even when her chin dug into his shoulder.

“Years of practice,” Elsa whispered. “Sometimes it doesn't always work though.”

“I told Emma I'd walk. Maybe. If…”

Killian exhaled, the brush of Anna’s cheek against his and he didn’t think he imagined the way her arms tightened around his middle. “They don’t want to rush anything,” he continued, but every single letter felt a bit like a challenge and neither he nor Emma had brought up the idea since they’d been in her office. He tried not to think about it.

“Rush what, exactly?” Liam asked, but he knew the answer to the question already because he’d been the answer to the question already and Killian wasn’t sure if that made sense either.  

It absolutely did not matter.

And he’d absolutely walk away.

For Emma or because of Emma or something that sounded less melodramatic than either of those things and he really just wanted the silent auction to go well later.

That seemed like an almost reasonable desire. All things considered. He had no idea what color her dress was.

“Me, I guess,” Killian shrugged. “I mean...Victor told us before they were mostly being cautious, but the league is--”

“--Aggressive,” Liam interrupted.  
  
“Was that the word you were looking for?”  
  
“That made as much sense as wide of the net,” Anna accused. “You were trying for proactive because brain trauma is…”  
  
“Traumatic?” Elsa asked.

Killian rolled his eyes. “Do none of us know how to stage a conversation on our own? One of us has got to finish these sentences.”

“You just did, KJ.”  
  
“A very small miracle.”  
  
“Seriously. Did you not eat?” Anna asked, but the question seemed to land in his ear and he was fairly sure Matt didn’t learn his lack of bodily-control from her, but she might have been helping to fine-tune his approach. “Is it a low blood sugar thing?”  
  
“It is not a low blood sugar thing.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Killian opened his mouth to answer, his grip on the phone getting tighter by the less-scheduled second, but Liam interrupted him again and they all needed a refresher in conversational tendencies and basic manners.

“Locksley told me,” he said, like that made any sense at all. Killian hummed, feeling the confusion settle on his shoulders as clearly as if it were actually Anna. It might have been at that point. That almost would have made more sense.

“Emma’s job, KJ,” Elsa explained. He took a deep breath, a sharp inhale that nearly hurt, but felt necessary and Anna tugged on the tie that was probably going to stay knotted around his neck for the rest of his life.

There was a lesson there or something.

He ignored it.

“Locksley’s been a very impressive gossip over the last few days, huh?” Killian asked, doing his best to keep the frustration out of his voice, but that went wide of the metaphorical net too. God.

Liam made a noise, an agreement without resorting to the words. “He’s worried. And Gina told him, so really you should be angry at Gina.”  
  
“I’m not angry,” Killian argued. “Although I am almost constantly annoyed with Gina. But that’s more just a general state of being now than anything else.”  
  
“Oh, I’m going to tell her that later,” Anna said, and he could feel her smile behind him.

“Banana, I wasn’t kidding about the threat before.”  
  
“Yeah, but you can’t lift me.”

“God, we’re so bad at this schedule,” Elsa groaned. “Can we get back to that?”  
  
“It’s your intervention, El,” Killian said. She clicked her tongue, shoulders sagging and he could see every single one of her teeth when he grimaced.

“That’s not what it is. It is a conversation because Husinger is going to be there tonight and probably going to talk to you tonight because he really does seem like that kind of asshole and we just wanted--”  
  
“--To know if you meant it,” Liam cut in.

“God, Liam, stop interrupting everyone,” Killian growled. “You’re married to El.”  
  
“And you’re married to Emma. And told her you’d walk from this game so she could take a job? Am I right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
Killian opened his mouth, only to close it as quickly and Elsa had started biting her lip now. Liam wasn’t done. “I don’t want you to retire, Killian,” he said. “And I think Victor’s being overreactive--”  
  
“--Is _that_ a word?” Anna asked sharply, and Killian was almost surprised they hadn’t drawn the ire of one of the Vankalds for the amount of groaning they’d all been collectively doing.

“No,” Elsa answered. “We don’t want you to retire, KJ. And we know you don’t really want to either. Emma doesn’t want you to retire. That’s not the point.”  
  
“So what’s the point?”  
  
“The point,” Liam said seriously. “Is that you thought about it. And said it. Out loud. And, like I said, I think Victor’s being overly cautious because he knows his ass is on the line with the league and the entire state of New Jersey is probably worried they’re going to get suspended, so when they decide to rush you some more, you’ll have another choice to make, but this might be the most mature thing you’ve ever done.”  
  
Killian considered that for a moment, running his tongue over the front of his teeth and Anna didn’t move. Elsa didn’t look like she was breathing.

“New Jersey should be singular,” Killian said. “It’s not a collective. Learn English, Liam.”

Elsa threw her whole head back when she laughed, body shaking and smile so obvious they probably felt it on several different space stations and Killian didn’t know how many space stations there were.

Liam didn’t look away from the phone though, one side of his mouth tugged up. “Yeah, that’s true,” he muttered. “Mary Margaret tell you that?”  
  
Killian shook his head. “I read. Occasionally.”

“You think Emma’s going to take this job? Locksley seemed to think it was good.”  
  
“Locksley’s opinions are being formed by Gina. Those don’t count.”  
  
“I’m going to tell her that too,” Anna muttered, mostly into Killian’s shoulder blade. “Also you really can’t talk to Husinger tonight, ok? His fifteen minutes are up.”  
  
“They were up when Killian landed that right hook,” Liam added.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Killian muttered, but it might have been worse and he needed Casino Night to be something treading slightly close to perfect. He needed to get out of his childhood bedroom and maybe make sure Emma wasn’t somewhere making another list.

“It was, KJ,” Elsa said. “It was bad and horrible and several other adjectives I bet you could get Mary Margaret to tell you about later. After you avoid Husinger all night.”  
  
“Or while you’re doing it,” Liam grinned. “We’re not going to be specific about it.”

Killian laughed, closing his eyes lightly and he might have leaned back against Anna, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was in control of whatever it was his emotions were doing. And it wasn’t a very good conversation, certainly not one of their best and possibly the least organized discussion they’d ever had, but they’d gotten to the point eventually.

That was some kind of lifelong trend.

“She knows you’re stupid in love with her, KJ,” Anna mumbled. “The world knows you’re stupid in love with her.”  
  
“Well, that tends to happen when you proclaim it,” Liam added, and Killian couldn’t even bring himself to sigh. He leaned back. Anna’s arms tightened.

“That was more a spur of the moment decision.”  
  
“Oh, we know that too. A good one though.”  
  
Killian hummed, something that felt a little bit like happiness and maybe a hint of hope settling in his core or something equally absurd.

Stupid in love with her seemed like an apt description, really.

“Frozen that way,” Elsa said, tapping her finger on the phone in Colorado and he could just make out the twins shouting and Lizzie shouting and the schedule had, quite clearly, reached its end. “You should put your jacket on before you go back downstairs. And...wait.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Elsa nodded. “Mom was helping her do her hair. She was excited.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. It wasn’t. Not really. Because Emma had always been kind of right – this family was a little fairy tale and a little absurd and sometimes Killian wondered if he should pinch himself, just to make sure it was all happening. But it was and did and several other tenses and Elsa kept blinking.

And very clearly chewing on her tongue.

“It’s a really pretty dress, KJ,” she muttered. HIs whole soul was going to explode. That was such a disgusting thought. “She was worried it wouldn’t get here in time.”  
  
“So you should probably go wait downstairs,” Liam suggested, and he didn’t flinch when a blur that was, presumably, Lizzie Vankald-Jones flew into the frame. “Like five minutes ago.”  
  
“Yeah, well, your guys’ schedule sucked, so…” Killian reasoned. Anna was already pushing on his shoulder, trying to get him off his own bed so she could _get changed, God, KJ_ and both Liam and Elsa nodded when he opened his mouth to thank them.

Stupid mind readers.

“We know, KJ,” Elsa said. “Tell her you love her, like, forty-seven times.”  
  
Pretty, it turned out, was one hell of an understatement.

He was sitting on the couch – not quite _dreading_ what Mrs. Vankald would say when she saw his feet on the edge of her coffee table, but not exactly looking forward to it and he didn’t need Anna’s pointed cough to know they were standing behind him.

Killian turned, fingers drifting across Peggy’s back because they needed to stop letting her crawl around on the floor and he was _absolutely_ worried about the kind of destruction she’d inflict on the brownstone if left to her weebling-type movements.

Emma smiled.

And pretty made no sense at all.

Pretty didn’t make his breath catch or make his lungs feel like they were shrinking in his chest. It didn’t make him hold onto their daughter a little tighter, standing up before he realized that was something he was still capable of doing and he was dimly aware of a shutter snapping when his jaw actually dropped.  
  
“God, you’re a walking cliché, KJ,” Anna laughed. “Mom, are you seeing this? It’s everything you’ve ever wanted happening right in your living room.”  
  
“Shut up, Banana,” Killian hissed, and he wanted to move, but his legs felt like cement and steel and several other improbable and impossible things. Emma licked her lips.

That was distracting.

The dress matched his tie – blue and _of course_ it was blue, but it fit and was good and great and his mind had kind of short-circuited at some point. Probably in between offering to retire and first steps and whatever she’d done to get her dress there on time.

“What exactly is it your face is doing right now?” Emma asked, and Anna cackled loud enough that Mr. Vankald yelled _quiet_ from the basement. They must have moved on to air hockey.

“Apparently freezing that way,” Killian muttered. His first step forward was about as shaky as it had been for the kid still in his arms, but Emma kept doing that thing with her tongue and there was far too much visible skin with her hair up like that.

She hummed, nodding slowly and letting the smile move across her face and maybe he could alter his deal with Merida if it meant they didn’t actually have to go to Casino Night.

And didn’t have to stay there.

If they got to go somewhere.

Alone.

For a prolonged period of time.

Casino Night was going to be a very distinct type of challenge.

“It’s not a bad look, honestly,” Emma said, mumbling a string of words to Peggy when they moved close enough and Anna was going to laugh for the next seventeen hours straight. At least. She was probably trying to set some kind of record.

And she kept taking pictures.

“I think that was a compliment, Swan,” Killian said. He had to move Peggy to brush his fingers over Emma’s arm, but her eyes fluttered and Casino Night couldn’t last that long.

Hours. God, hours.

“That was how it was meant.”  
  
He nodded, not sure how to keep talking when his mind was so focused on anything except talking, but the words seemed to tumble out of him anyway and he really liked making Emma blush. “Swan, you look…”

“Yeah, I know right?”

Killian grinned, that same feeling from before growing or expanding and he’d lost complete control of the English language, but the last month had been some kind of very particular type of athletic-based hell and...fuck it.

He ducked his head, still almost painfully aware of the daughter kicking what might have been his spleen or possibly his liver, catching Emma’s mouth with his and appreciating the way she gasped against him.

It didn’t take long for that to change, fingers in his hair and a body pulled flush against his chest when Killian wrapped a free arm around Emma’s waist. She hadn’t put her heels on yet, had to push up on her toes to reach him and that was a whole _other_ thing that his mind absolutely could not deal with, particularly with Anna audibly gagging in the background.

“You are holding your child,” she yelled, getting louder was Mrs. Vankald _shushed_ her. The shutter went off again. And then five more times.

Killian didn’t listen to her. Emma didn’t stop kissing him, holding him there like she wanted to make sure he didn’t disappear or suffer another potential career-threatening injury and they had to go back to the doctor in two weeks.

He didn’t want to think about that.

Casino Night first.

Hours. Hours of Casino Night.

“We’ve got to go,” Emma mumbled, but she’d never actually pulled away from his mouth and they’d probably scandalized Mrs. Vankald. Peggy didn’t seem particularly pleased with the situation either.

It was definitely his spleen.

“Merida can handle it for a little while,” Killian argued.

“That’s probably true, honestly.”  
  
“See? Perfect plan.”  
  
“Are you guys done?” Anna asked, eyebrows lifted and a decidedly different look on her face when Killian twisted to glare at her. “Because El is going to pissed if we don’t actually take pictures and--”

She pointed to the door, the bell ringing as if it were simply waiting for its cue and Mrs. Vankald’s smile seemed to rival several different suns. Mr. Vankald yelled _come in_ from the basement, Matt bounding up the steps and running to the door and it would have been impossible to miss Will’s grunt when a four-year-old collided with him.

“What the hell is this?” Killian asked, as a line of tuxedo-sporting and dress-wearing people walked into the living room. Mrs. Vankald looked close to tears.

Mr. Vankald might have actually been holding a film camera.

“What does it look like, Cap?” Will asked, Matt hanging off his shoulder and Belle hovering close by so no one injured something. Ariel kept rolling her eyes.

They were all dressed. And all there. Smiling and on theme and everyone’s tie was a slightly different shade of Rangers blue that somehow all kind of went together and that might have been another lesson.

“It looks like you’re breaking into my house,” Killian said. He hitched Peggy further up his side when her fingers found his tie. “Improbable upper-body strength,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to her hair and Mary Margaret took that picture.

“This is not your house, Cap,” Ruby said reasonably. She and Mary Margaret were already circling around Emma, waving hands and talking about orders and it was a mess of words and shouts and incredibly expressive faces, kids running and trying to climb on other kids and Roland had already challenged Matt to a shoot-off at some point.

“I’m going to go ahead and take credit for all of it,” Mr. Vankald said, just loud enough for Killian to hear and Mrs. Vankald nodded in agreement immediately.

“For what?” Killian asked.

“The plan. Although I do believe Elsa wrote it down and sent it to everyone.”  
  
“She did,” Robin confirmed, an arm around Regina and they both had far too much black on. “There were a considerable number of bullet points.”  
  
“Ah, well, that’s always been Elsa.”  
  
“She’s practicing for taking over the world,” Phillip yelled. He was still lingering in the archway between the living room and the foyer, Aurora tight against his side and Killian’s head snapped to Emma when he realized.

She moved at the same time.

Honestly, the lessons were starting to get a little absurd at this point.

“We weren’t going to say anything for awhile,” Phillip said lightly, but the room had gotten almost too silent and Mary Margaret had her hands on her cheeks. Mrs. Vankald was definitely crying. “But this team never does anything the way it’s supposed to, so, you know…”  
  
“You know,” Killian echoed.

Phillip shrugged, fingers drifting towards Aurora’s stomach and he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t look, but it was almost _too_ obvious now and they both kind of looked like they were glowing.

Or something less ridiculous and cliché than that.

Emma kissed his cheek.

“I really didn’t want to fall on the ice,” Aurora muttered, hissing in a breath of air that was probably part of the apology too.

“Yeah, I get that,” Emma nodded.

Will groaned when no one said anything else, a quick apology to Matt when he almost fell off his shoulder and both Killian and Emma lunged at the same time. “Ok, first of all, I need you guys to stop being crazy parents,” he said, holding up his hand like that helped him make his point. “Let Rook and Aurora do that now. You guys are old news.”  
  
“For the record we did not agree to being rude at any point tonight, “ Ruby said, knocking her knuckles against Will’s shoulder. She made a face at Peggy.

“Second of all,” Will continued, ignoring Ruby and Ariel was going to give herself some kind of complex if she kept sighing like that. “Were we going to confirm the news, Rook or were we all just supposed to assume?”  
  
“There’s not really much to assume,” Aurora answered before Phillip could. She smiled, a little nervous and a little excited and Killian understood that too. Emma’s fingers laced through his. “It’s uh,” she added, pointing at the small swell of her stomach. “Getting kind of obvious. We just…”  
  
“There’s been some stuff going on,” Phillip said.

Ruby groaned. “We really weren’t going for rude.”  
  
“That’s not rude,” Killian said, squeezing Emma’s hand lightly and her thumb brushed over a scar on the back of his palm. Mrs. Vankald wasn’t even trying to stop the tears from falling now. “What exactly was your plan though? If it wasn’t more next-gen announcements.”  
  
“Aw, Cap, you can’t just use _Post_ headlines for your own emotional needs,” Robin grumbled.

“Too late. Answer the question or I’ll tell Liam to stop feeding you gossip.”  
  
Robin’s eyes widened, Will snickering behind him, but that ended as soon as Matt kicked dangerously close to the bruise on his thigh. “I’m not going to send you anymore film then.”  
  
“I won’t need it.”  
  
The room froze again, jaws dropping and gasps sounding far too loud and Phillip’s hand had drifted entirely on top of Aurora’s stomach now.

“No, shit,” Robin mumbled, making a noise in the back of his throat when he realized what he’d said. “I’m just...really?”  
  
Killian nodded. “I’m assuming it’ll be easier to get that when Arthur is also trying to get me to fix your piece of garbage power play. Sorry, Rook.”  
  
“Ah, I can’t screen the net as good as you, Cap,” Phillip shrugged. “And, uh, just for the record as it were or whatever--”  
  
“--We’re having a baby,” Aurora finished, as happy as Killian had ever heard her and she’d been the one to come up with _that_ drink after they won the first Cup.

There were more cheers and something that might have been an attempt at applause, but they were all trying to clap each other on the back and make sure no one ruined someone else’s outfit and Mary Margaret cursed softly under her breath when her phone ran out of storage.

“It’s all just videos of Pegs wobbling around,” she said. “And Leo doing pull-ups.”  
  
Killian grinned. “Pull-ups?”  
  
“In the playpen. You guys may have gotten to the walking marker before we did, but we’re really gunning for strongest kid under four.”  
  
“So just Leo and Peggy?”  
  
“Yes, exactly that.”

“We didn’t think it was fair to include Matt,” David added. “The kid can already skate blue lines better than any of you, so it felt wrong to lump him in.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with it,” Emma mumbled, but she was still smiling and still holding Killian’s hand and that dress still looked absurdly good. Hours of Casino Night. He was going to buy everything in the silent auction to make sure it ended quicker.

“Can I have my picture now?” Mrs. Vankald asked loudly. She was standing on the couch, hands on hips and a determined look on her face. Killian’s jaw was never going to recover.

“Was this the plan?”  
  
“Of course it was. Was that not obvious?”  
  
“I mean…”

Will saluted, swinging Matt back onto the floor. “Sure thing, Mrs. V. I mean, you were the biggest loser of the Peggy walking bet.”  
  
“What?” Killian and Emma yelled at the same time.

Mrs. Vankald looked unperturbed, but her balance wasn’t perfect on the couch and it was difficult for her to shrug while she was trying to make sure she didn’t fall on top of David. He kept moving his hand behind her. “He’s exaggerating,” she promised. “It wasn’t nearly that much.”  
  
Mr. Vankald shook his head when Killian gaped at him, but he looked entertained by the whole thing and they were absolutely going to be late.

“Where do you want us, Mrs. V?” Belle asked, fixing Matt’s shirt and trying to make sure Roland’s hair laid flat.

It took far too longer than it should have to get them all in order – lined up in the foyer like they were going to prom or the Locksley-Mills holiday party and fancy dress competition. But they got there eventually, Belle and Ariel working with Mrs. Vankald to organize everyone while Anna shouted about height and _color coordination_ and the camera she gave Mr. Vankald to use looked impossibly expensive.

“Now you all know what you’re getting for Christmas,” Mr. Vankald said, cars honking from the street and coats pulled out of the pile they’d all left them in as soon as they barreled into the brownstone.

“You want to make out in the backseat of the car?” Emma asked, finally in heels and tall enough to whisper the word against his ear and Killian wasn’t sure what was happening to his entire body, but it wasn’t all that unpleasant and her tongue pressed into the corner of her mouth when he turned towards.

“An absolutely ridiculous amount.”

She laughed before he could say anything else – or start in on those forty-seven _I love you_ declarations – pulling on his tie and brushing her lips against his.

They might have embarrassed that driver.

And they never needed to be worried about Husinger because the _fucking asshole,_ as every single one of them referred to him at some point over the course of the night, didn’t bother to show up.

“I thought Sam and Joe were going to drop their index cards,” Emma muttered, pacing in the back corner of Gotham Hall. Killian could still hear the music playing around the corner, fans laughing and betting and the video poker thing had been a really good idea.

Will kept losing.

“They didn’t though,” Killian said. He caught her around the wrist when she spun, eyeing her meaningfully as she collided with his chest. “It’s fine, Swan. The whole thing is better than fine.”

“He’s a goddamn fucking asshole.”  
  
“Yes.”

“Like. The worst person on this team.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Possibly the league.”  
  
“Eh, that’s doing him too much of a service, love. And you don’t have to worry about him.”  
  
“You can’t punch him again.”  
  
Killian chuckled, kissing the top of her head and a piece hair had come undone at some point. He was only slightly positive it was actively trying to kill him. In that only slightly abandoned hallway. There were a questionable number of waiters at this event.

“Have I told you how wonderful you look tonight?” he asked, pulling them back towards the closest wall when _another_ waiter nearly tripped over both of them.

“Not in so many words.”  
  
“Wonderful. Beautiful. Incredible. Stunning?”  
  
“Why was that last one a question?” Emma asked. She shifted her weight, resting both her palms flat on his chest and his eyes fell to the laces around her wrist – a third generation pair, which probably wasn’t the right word at all, but he was already preoccupied with adjectives and feelings and whatever happened to his pulse when he remembered they were _his_ laces.

A slightly possessive, melodramatic, absurdly in love with his life idiot.

With an occasionally flimsy understanding of the English language.

“I feel like I’ve used that one before,” Killian muttered. They were in the goddamn hallway, and he knew someone would come look for them eventually – there was only so much he could ask of Merida in one night and Emma’s walkie-talkie was lost somewhere – but he really would walk away from all of this if it meant she got what she wanted and deserved and there was just _so much open skin_ in front of him.

So, really, he could not be blamed for ducking his head and kissing along the curve of her shoulder and the slight jut of her collarbone and--  
  
“If you actually leave a mark there, I’ll punch you,” Emma warned.

“Your insult leaves a bit to be desired when you sigh it out, love.”

“That’s not even fair.”  
  
“How easy it is to read you or…”  
  
“The kissing thing,” she muttered, one hand gripping the front of his jacket and the other moving into his hair and if they didn’t get out of that hallway soon Killian was fairly positive he’d go crazy. That might have already happened. “You think they’re going to fine him?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Killian!”  
  
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “And I really do not care. I hope so. If only because he’s a fucking asshole and despite how fantastic all of this has gone, I know you’re worried about it.”

“That obvious, huh?”  
  
“A little.”  
  
“Add that to the not fair list.”  
  
“Ah, I’m around for the long haul, Swan,” Killian said, brushing the strand of hair behind her ear. They needed another car to make out in. “Something was bound to stick. And you did fantastic here. Again. Indefinitely.”  
  
“I feel like you’re just saying words now.”  
  
He shook his head, fingers lingering on her cheek and he hoped his heart didn’t actually beat out of his chest. That probably wasn’t good for his ribs. Ariel would be pissed. “Honest,” Killian said. “As honest as I am capable of being.”  
  
“That’s another line.”  
  
“A fact. A resoundingly true fact that should have been obvious from the get-go.”  
  
“It was,” she said. “Although I’ll be honest the two kids did kind of make it a little more obvious. Prove your worth or something.”

“Duly noted.”

She smiled, letting her head fall forward and Killian’s hand landed on her hips from years of practice and want and making out in rented cars. And hallways. There were a lot of hallways. “I love you,” she muttered.

“I’m not worried about Husinger. Arthur’ll probably scratch him, honestly. That was a...”

“Fucking asshole move?”  
  
“Exactly that,” Killian said. “It’s not his team. It was never going to be his team, but I don’t care about him. The only thing I care about is you and your event-planning sanity and how soon we can get home.”

Emma leaned back, mouth twisted slightly and it really was difficult to maintain his train of thought when she stared at him like that. “I love that word,” she whispered, like she was admitting to the biggest thing in the world and it kind of was and the waiters that were absolutely staring at them absolutely did not matter.

“I love you.”  
  
“Oh, smooth.”  
  
“Honest,” Killian repeated. He pulled her forward, another kiss and another moment and _more than anything_ felt far too small for all of it. For all of them.

“You’re really going to help Arthur? With the team, I mean?”  
  
There was a wall behind him, so he couldn’t actually get much space between them, but that seemed kind of counterproductive to his final goal anyway, and Killian just hummed in agreement. His fingers kept moving over Emma’s dress.

“You tell him yet?”  
  
“Nah.”

“You should do that.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Wow, we went from all these sweeping speeches to just one-word questions, huh?”

Killian laughed, hands lingering on the small of her back and everything felt slower and bigger and possibly life-changing, but he couldn’t really figure out why. “I love you,” he said again, Emma groaning at the deflection.

“If I tell Mer I’ll remember to eat lunch on my own for the next month, do you think we can sneak out of here without anyone else noticing?”  
  
“Depends on how much you mean it, I guess.”  
  
“Ah, well, you’ll be at the Garden too, right?”  
  
“Are you asking me on lunch dates for the next month, Swan?”  
  
“Something like that,” she smiled.

“This place have a back exit?”  
  
“If you get a cab I can get Mer and we can be gone in ten minutes.”  
  
Heart explosion, right on cue. “Make it five,” he muttered, a smirk on his mouth even after he kissed her or she kissed him and it didn’t matter because they somehow made it three minutes and the cab driver gasped when he realized who they were.

Killian was never entirely sure how they got into the apartment building. It was a mess of roaming hands and quiet sighs and Emma’s hair in between his fingers, lips latching on her neck again as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them.

It took an inexcusable amount of time to realize neither one of them had actually pressed a button.

That probably had something to do with Emma’s leg hooked around the back of his calf.

Everything.

It had everything to do with that.

He was on some kind of honest kick now.

And he dropped his keys twice when they landed in front of their front door, Emma behind him and hands under his jacket. Her fingers drifted dangerously close to his belt, a quiet laugh echoing in his ears and beating out in tandem with the pulse that was, quite obviously, trying to work its way out of his body and evolve into its own sentient being, just to prove how much work it was doing in the moment.

“Distracted,” Emma muttered, dragging the word against the side of his neck and Killian had to rest his head on the door to catch his breath. She laughed again.

“That’s your fault, Swan.”  
  
“We just ditched the biggest event of the season, I think we both have to take some blame for the situation we’re in.”

“And what,” Killian started, turning quickly enough to take her by surprise and he’d probably think about the noise she made when he backed her against the wall for, at least, the next forty years. “Exactly is the situation we’re in?”

“Trying not to actually undress you in the hallway.”  
  
He groaned – not sure if it was the words or her hands or the glint in her eyes, but it was probably all of those things and Emma smiled like she’d won every single bet this stupid team had ever made.

“I love you,” he said, possibly closing in on forty-seven at this point. He’d kind of lost track in the cab. It was definitely at least twenty times.

“Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere. Several press conferences.”  
  
Killian laughed against her mouth. His keys were still on the ground. “Just the one, love,” he said, but _that_ felt bigger too and he had no idea how his shirt had come half untucked. “We’ve got to move, Emma, or we’re going to get kicked out of our own apartment.”

She hummed, fingers under his shirt and brushing over his hip and they didn’t move, couldn’t move, or wouldn’t move and, honestly, the English language was irrelevant. “C’mon, Jones,” Emma muttered, tugging lightly on his tie and he had no idea what noise he made when she grabbed his keys. “I hate looking for new apartments.”

They didn’t make it out of the living room.

Which, really, was kind of absurd if Killian stopped to think about it, but he was having a difficult time remembering anything that existed out of few feet around him and was more than willing to linger in absurd if this is how it all worked out.

Emma bit her lip, standing there with her dress around her ankles and her hair hanging over her shoulders and he must have actually said _c’mere_ because she moved, legs on either side of his hips and they both laughed when the couch creaked.  
  
“This is ridiculous,” Emma muttered, but her hips were moving now and there were only so many times Killian’s brain could short-circuit before he just died. That would have ruined the night. Probably.

“Romantic, this is romantic.”  
  
“Yeah, so says you.”  
  
“Are you not charmed, Swan?”  
  
“I mean…” The rest of her sentence got caught in her throat when his fingers moved, mouth back on hers and heart beat pounding in his ears and he smiled when she mumbled _God, like that_ against his skin.

They never actually picked up their clothes.

They were still in a pile hours later, phones forgotten _somewhere_ as Killian’s fingers drifted over Emma’s side. It was a precarious position, balanced on a couch that quite clearly was not meant for two adults, but moving felt like some kind of insane notion and he was fairly certain Emma was close to falling asleep.  

Until she started talking again.

“I’m not going to do it.”  
  
Killian’s fingers stilled, eyebrows furrowed and he couldn't quite see her. They hadn’t ever turned the goddamn lights on. “I’m not going to do it,” Emma repeated, voice a little surer that time. “The league job, I mean. I don’t...I don’t want it.”

“What?”  
  
“Did you actually not hear me or was part of that confusing?”  
  
“I mean, kind of both,” Killian said, propping his head on his hand. Emma squeezed on eye shut. “Swan, are you...are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she answered immediately. “I mean...it’s a great job and a good opportunity, but I don’t..” She sighed, the lights from the street reflecting on her face and there was an ambulance driving up the block. It was always so goddamn loud in that city, but it was difficult to fall asleep without the noise too, and Emma didn’t blink when she met his gaze again. “I’m home and maybe it makes me selfish, but I don’t want to leave that. This team and these people and your tendency to proclaim things in print are…”  
  
“You’ve got to finish your thoughts, love.”  
  
He didn’t mean for it to come out like that – part plea and part need and his eyes closed when Emma traced over his jaw. “More than anything, right?” she asked.

“Indefinitely.”  
  
“That’s not what’s going to happen. This is...I know you think this might be it, but I don’t believe that. I won’t. It’s...that’s not who we are. Not anymore.”  
  
“Not for a very long time, Swan.”

“Exactly,” she said, pulling herself into his eye line. “I don’t want it. I can still do good here.”  
  
“Better than good.”  
  
“A line.”  
  
“A fact,” Killian said. “You’re sure though?”  
  
“You don’t have to keep checking. I’m positive. Which is something I never really thought I’d get and you--”  
  
“--Nearly fucked that up.”  
  
“No,” Emma countered, grazing over the bruise he’d been careful not to lean on and her smile wasn’t something he’d ever get used to. That was probably for the best. He didn’t want to ever get used to that. “The opposite of that. I am...ridiculously happy with you, you know that?”  
  
“Ridiculously?”  
  
“You don’t get to make fun of word choice. Not all of us have presser availability.”  
  
“How many times do you think you’re going to mention that?”  
  
“Probably until it stops making me swoon. So I wouldn’t hold my breath.”  
  
He kissed her. There was no other option. Really. That wasn’t even hyperbole. That was another fact and another feeling and he was going to breeze by forty-seven times. “C’mon, love, I’m going to hurt myself if we stay out here,” Killian said, standing up and holding a hand out to Emma. Her fingers were warm.

“Old man,” she muttered, but the insult got lost in her laugh and her smile and they didn’t move their clothes until the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday. Casino Night is going to happen and it's not going to be the most dramatic thing in the world. Someday. 
> 
> Come flail on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if you're down


	13. Chapter 13

“Swan.”

“Don’t talk, you’re distracting me.”  
  
“I’m distracting you?”

Emma stopped abruptly, head tilted to the side and she was ready for the smirk, anticipated it, could feel it practically boring a hole into the side of her head the entire time she’d been pacing, but that didn’t make it any less effective and he absolutely knew it.

The smirk was absurdly powerful.

Killian arched an eyebrow.

And that was like some kind of level up in the video games Roland and Henry spent hours playing.

Emma clicked her tongue, shoulders slumping when she huffed out an exhale and she had to keep blinking because the smirk was _absurd_ and the lights in that doctor’s office were far too bright. Like they were trying to tell her something.

She hoped it was something good.

Or, at least, not bad.

She would have accepted either.

She was really hoping for good.

“Maybe the distraction is a good thing,” Emma mumbled, moving forward when Killian pulled himself to the end of another examination table and she probably wasn’t supposed to be pacing. But she was fairly certain her legs didn’t care about the rules or regulations or how goddamn bright those lights were because she kept moving and pacing and hoping.

She was brimming with hope.

And want. But want sounded far more selfish and she didn’t want for her, didn’t _care_ about any of that, just wanted this to be good and possibly great and _great_ felt even more absurdly selfish.

“You didn’t call yet,” Killian said, not a question, a statement and an understanding and the absolute truth.

Emma shook her head deftly, lips quirking when one of his hands landed on her hip and she didn’t realize she was that close to him already.

Her legs should have been studied.

They were probably doing something miraculous.

She hoped the world didn’t waste its undoubtedly limited supply of medical miracles on her restless legs. That would have been absurd.

“I haven’t had time,” Emma lied. She’d had plenty of time. She’d had more time than she could remember having in _seasons_ and that might have been a bit of an exaggeration, but it was pretty damn close and she was stalling because the deadline was looming and she’d have less time again next week.

That was a confusing sentence.

She was stalling. That was the point.

And Killian absolutely knew.

Strangers on the street probably knew at this point. Ruby had definitely been talking about it to Merida, hushed conversations the day before that ended as soon as Emma turned the corner.

“Why?” Killian pressed, tapping a finger on the side of Emma’s jeans.

“Why haven’t I had time?”  
  
“No.”  
  
She sighed again, drooping slightly but that only made it easier for him to work his arm all the way around her and this could not have been appropriate doctor’s office behavior. Not when there were diagnoses coming and announcements practically hanging in the air already and--  
“How does your head feel?” Emma asked, ignoring whatever he did with his eyebrows when she tried to change the subject.

“It’s like you didn’t even try, Swan,” Killian mumbled. He tucked his thumb under her chin, lifting her gaze back up to his and she couldn’t really think when he did that. He knew that too.

“Rude.”  
  
“You want to circle back around to the actual part of this conversation I’m interested in?”

“Absolutely not. Answer my question.”  
  
He laughed softly, a quick brush of his lips over hers and Emma didn’t _try_ to chase after him, but that worked about as well as the whole lying thing had and they were going to rip the table paper again. She hoped it offended Victor.

She was kind of mad at Victor still.

“I’m fine, love,” Killian promised, and she squeezed one eye shut trying to listen for the hitch in his breath, the same _tell_ Matt had when he promised he hadn’t tried to get on the ice at practice, but there wasn’t anything there. His voice was calm and even and something bordering close to confident, which was an exceptionally dangerous look on Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers and whatever word that wasn’t _advisor_ because they weren’t allowed to use that word and he hadn’t skated yet, but he’d stood on the ice the day before.

Progress.

Or baby steps.

Or something.

Possibly a miracle.

If Victor would ever show up and tell them anything.

And Matt had absolutely gotten on the ice at practice the day before too.

“Yeah?” Emma asked, absolutely hating how small her voice sounded to her own ears. The smirk disappeared almost immediately, softening and possibly warming her entire soul, which might have been the real miracle, honestly, and Killian’s hand landed on her cheek like there were magnets in loved.

“Yeah.”  
  
“But, like, for real?”  
  
Killian laughed again, fingers pushing into Emma’s hair and he didn’t tug her forward exactly, but the intent was clear and she would have gone willingly anyway. That felt important. “For real, love,” he said.

“Because you’d tell me, right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
“Swan,” Killian grinned, and she wasn’t sure if he even realized his thumb had started moving, but it was and there were goosebumps on Emma’s skin and she kind of wanted to start pacing again. She needed to make a list of things she had to do before the deadline.

There had been some rumors about Husinger.

She should have asked Ruby about that when she saw her gossiping with her assistant.

“How come you haven’t called Tink yet?” Killian asked, a smile on his face when Emma scrunched her nose. “And don’t tell me it’s the schedule. It’s not. I know it’s not.”  
  
“How do you know that? You’ve been trying to fix a shitty power play for the last two weeks.”  
  
“And surprisingly enough that doesn’t mean I don’t have room in my head to worry about you too. Also they scored last game, so I think that proves my point.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“I honestly have no idea,” Killian admitted, and maybe the genuine smile was more effective than the smirk, but it also might have been whatever he was doing with his fingers and Emma kind of wanted Victor to take a little longer so they could keep flirting.

“It’s all Scarlet’s talked about for the last two days. And it was a good goal. I don’t know why he wasn’t shooting from the circle before.”  
  
“Because he’s a defensemen. So he’s only ever played point, but he’s got enough strength on his shot that he could score on that one-timer more often than not. He just has to change his mindset. Think about scoring before he tries to punch someone.”  
  
“Seems ineffective on a power play.”

Killian hummed, a flash in his eyes that had been decidedly absent over the last few weeks and the butterflies in Emma’s stomach didn’t make sense, but she _knew_ he’d be good at this and maybe she was a little proud.

It was bigger than that – more important and supportive, but she’d never actually gotten that refresher on the English language from Mary Margaret. Maybe that’s why she was avoiding talking to Tink.

And she was, like, at least eighty-five percent certain Merida was screening her calls again.

“You don’t have to be worried about me,” Emma said, suddenly remembering that word being used and she hadn’t been trying to yell. But the words seemed to fly out of her, a bit sharper than she intended, and Killian’s eyebrows jumped.

“No?”  
  
“You are injured. We are in a doctor’s office.”  
  
“For potentially good news,” he pointed out. “No headaches in like...three weeks?”  
  
“Why don’t you know that? Shouldn’t you know that? God, should I know that? I probably should have been keeping track, right?”

She tried to pull away, to start pacing again, but Killian’s left hand moved and he’d twisted his leg around hers at some point, effectively cementing Emma to the spot. “It’s really not fair that you’re still that strong,” she mumbled. “You haven’t even worked out in weeks.”  
  
“I’ve been paid to play sports for awhile now, love, I think it takes some time for muscle mass to just disappear.”

Emma rolled her eyes – mostly so he didn’t see the blush in her cheeks, but that was like telling him to not notice mistakes on the power play and she really wanted them to win later that night. In several different ways.

The flirting was obviously messing with her head.

“See,” Killian grinned. “You can’t even argue it. You know, Swan, I think you’re vaguely attracted to me.”  
  
“Vaguely.”  
  
He did something absurd with every single inch of his face, shifting eyebrows and quirking lips and the color of his eyes should have been illegal. “And,” he added softly, “Red mentioned we might be able to get back to a regular PT schedule if things go well today.”

Emma blinked. “What? When did she say that?”  
  
“After the game on Wednesday.”  
  
“And you just figured you’d mention that now?”  
  
Killian sighed, eyes falling closed and head close to crashing into Emma’s collarbone when it dropped forward. “It wasn’t some secret, Swan,” he muttered. “She wasn’t sure. It depends on today and what that specialist says and how the several dozen tests I just endured play out.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s how you wanted to phrase that.”  
  
“Probably not.”  
  
“And it really wasn’t several dozen tests. You’re incredibly dramatic.”  
  
“Yeah, that may be true.”  
  
“It’s absolutely true,” Emma said, brushing hair away from his eyebrows and she couldn’t stop whatever her heart did when his breathing evened out as soon as her fingers moved across the back of his neck. “It’s going to be ok,” she whispered. She didn’t know who she was trying to convince. It might have been her. It might have been those strangers on the street who knew she was avoiding talking to Tink.

She didn’t look up – absolutely could not because that would only lead to making out in the doctor’s office instead of just flirting in the doctor’s office – but Killian’s hand moved, fingers tracing up her spine until everything seemed to settle and Emma knew he was smiling at her.

“I know it is,” he said. “No matter what they say.”  
  
“That was dramatic too.”  
  
His hand shook slightly when he laughed, an uneven pattern that was actually almost more comforting than anything else. “I know it is,” Killian repeated. “You want to talk about this phone call you’re avoiding now?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“You’ve got to call her, Swan.”  
  
“That is incredibly stupid.”  
  
Killian chuckled, lips ghosting over her temple and the top of her hair and Victor was probably avoiding them now. There was no way any of this should take this long. “Is Merida screening your phone calls and emails again?” Killian asked.

“I’ve got some very strong suspicions.”  
  
“We should probably buy her something at some point, don’t you think?”  
  
“Like the entire island of Manhattan?”  
  
“It’d run much more efficiently then.”

Emma nodded, stepping in between his legs when he moved and they were treading far too close to _making out_ than was entirely responsible. His fingers had shifted under the hem of her shirt at some point.

“Way less traffic on the West Side Highway,” Emma mumbled, burrowing into the crook of Killian’s shoulder.

“They’d build her a statue in Times Square. Right next to George M. Cohan.”  
  
“I have no idea who that is.”  
  
“Honestly?”

Emma leaned back, eyebrows furrowed and confusion practically radiating down her spine, but Killian’s eyes were still impossibly blue and Matt was going to try and get on the ice before the game that night. They were both the world’s biggest pushovers.

And Will kept sneaking him on.

Maybe Will was just irresponsible.

“Do you know who that is?” Emma asked skeptically, but that was a stupid question because, sometimes, she was certain Killian knew everything and then some and Victor must have been curing several different diseases in the time they’d spent waiting. That was the only excuse for how long they’d been in that room.

Killian nodded. “Composer, actor, probably a bunch of other words. It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen that movie.”  
  
“What are you saying to me, right now?”  
  
“Swan, you’ve been in Times Square before.”  
  
“Not if I can help it.”  
  
That worked another laugh out of him, an easy grin and fingers that were probably possessed or something less awful-sounding than that and Emma didn’t remember resting her hands on his thighs, but she could feel the muscle even through the jeans and they needed to get out of that doctor’s office.

“Mrs. V and Ruth should probably get together and compare record collections at some point,” Killian said. “Although Ruth might be a little more wild than Mrs. V is entirely prepared for.”  
  
“That’s the most ridiculous sentence I’ve ever heard.”  
  
“It felt ridiculous while I was saying it, honestly.”  
  
“Does Mrs. V have some kind of record collection? Is that where this is going?”  
  
Killian nodded. “Exactly that. And a penchant for old Hollywood movies, of the musical variety.”

“God, do you think she just like...floats on a cloud at all times? I do not understand how she is a real person.”  
  
“That seems like a compliment.”  
  
“It was,” Emma promised. “We should buy them a gift too. I felt like shit for forgetting their Casino Night tickets.”  
  
“Honestly, it’s probably for the best that you did, Swan. They would have been stunned we snuck out before it was over.”  
  
Emma blushed before she could control the heat in her cheeks, lips tugged back behind her teeth and eyes a bit wider than usual. She was going to shave Killian’s eyebrows off in the middle of the night.

“Are you sure about this, Swan?” he asked, any trace of laughter forgotten when they abruptly turned into the _serious_ portion of the conversation. Emma’s eyes got wider.

“I have no idea what you’re asking me.”  
  
“The job. Are you sure?”  
  
“Crystal. Or, no, that’s the wrong cliché, right? That doesn’t make any sense.”  
  
“I think the context clues helped.”  
  
“So, then, yeah, I’m one-hundred percent sure,” Emma said, meaning every word, but it was clear Killian was still a bit cautious and a little worried and _he_ was worried about her. That wasn’t right at all.

She wasn’t the one with trauma.

“Because you could…” he started, trailing off when Emma shook her head. “You’ve got to at least let me finish the sentences, love.”  
  
“I don’t,” Emma argued. “Not when they’re sentences we’ve already said and I'm just being an enormous coward about it.”  
  
“That’s the part that worries me.”  
  
“Worry about your power play, coach.”  
  
“Don’t let Gina hear you use that word, it’s probably against my contract.”  
  
“And probably won’t make a difference if Victor ever decides to show up.”  
  
Killian licked his lips, eyes tracing over Emma’s face like he was looking for something very specific and it was almost _too_ obvious he found it when he kissed her. Hard. She didn’t quite sigh against him, but it was awfully close and she was still kind of swooning over that press conference, even the thought of it leaving her a little lightheaded and kind of dizzy and this all needed to work.

They needed to win later.

And indefinitely.

“Thank you,” Killian said, pressing the words to the curve of her jaw. Emma hadn’t been expecting that.

“What?”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“No, I heard you. I just...don’t get it.”  
  
He stared at her incredulous, disbelief etched into every bit of his face and the laugh he let out was as surprised as he’d ever sounded. “Swan,” Killian breathed, shaking his head and blinking and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to convince himself she was still there. “This is...well, the whole thing has been God awful hasn’t it?”  
  
She let out a shaky laugh, only slightly frustrated at the tears in her eyes and whatever her pulse was doing. “Yeah. I’d really love if we didn’t do this again.”  
  
“That makes two of us. But you are…” He inhaled, sharp and a little unsteady and the goosebumps were everywhere now. She assumed there was no air conditioning in that doctor’s office. “Everything,” Killian finished. “You know that? Everything.”  
  
“You are on a drama roll,” Emma muttered, mostly so she didn’t dissolve into some kind of tear-stained puddle. Killian practically beamed.  
  
“Absolutely true. It’s probably the effects of the MRI.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s how it works.”  
  
“I’ll ask Victor.”  
  
“He’ll lie to you.”  
  
“Isn’t that against some kind of oath?”  
  
Emma shrugged. “Probably. I’ll call Tink later today. But let it be known, for posterity and bragging rights or whatever, that I’m doing this before the deadline.”  
  
“The day before.”  
  
“Still counts.”  
  
“It does,” Killian agreed, brushing across her cheek and the side of her neck and Emma wasn’t entirely in control of whatever her teeth did to her lower lip. “If I say thank you for all of this again are you going to call me dramatic?”  
  
“It would be.”  
  
“Then I won’t do that.”  
  
“Yeah, don’t do that,” Emma muttered. The smile was tugging at the ends of her mouth though, calm and _home_ and hopeful all rolled into one, enormous feeling that felt a bit like her own personal sun sitting in the pit of her stomach.

The drama was, apparently, catching.

“I am though.”  
  
“God, that’s still doing it. You’re just using different words. And that’s stupid.”  
  
“Stupid?” Killian echoed, Emma nodding emphatically. “How do you figure?”  
  
“Because we’re a team, right?”

He didn’t freeze – she could still see his shoulders moving and his chest moving and he must have moved his arm because his fingers laced through hers, thumb landing on top of her laces like he’d discovered another metaphorical magnet. He didn’t smile either, though, just stared at Emma like she was the world and the universe and something to be thankful for.

Indefinitely.

“Yeah,” Killian said, but it sounded like a promise and Emma was dimly aware of the door opening behind her. “We are.”

“Are you guys kidding me?” Victor asked sharply. “You’re in someone else’s office.”  
  
Killian didn’t look away from Emma. “Be a better doctor then.”

“That has nothing to do with any of it. And I am a fantastic doctor.” Emma opened her mouth, several pointed and slightly inappropriate opinions sitting on the tip of her tongue, but Victor sighed loudly and Killian had to press his head into her shoulder to stop from laughing too loudly. “Yeah, yeah, that’s hysterical, Cap. You’re the funniest man in New York, you know that?”  
  
“At least in the Tri-State area, Victor, give me a little credit.”  
  
“After the shit you’ve put me through in the last month? Absolutely not.”  
  
“Ok, there’s no need to be a complete ass about it,” Emma muttered, and Victor looked properly abashed at that. Killian kissed her cheek.

“Victor, what’s the name of the oath you took?” Killian asked. “The one not to be a complete and utter dick.”  
  
“That’s not what I agreed to, Cap.”  
  
“Maybe you should have. You know we have to get back to the Garden at some point, right?”

“Strangely enough, yes, I am aware of the schedule.”  
  
“Really not selling it.”  
  
Victor glared, narrow eyes and thin lips and the lights reflected off the stethoscope around his neck. Emma was going to strangle him with it. “Hippocratic,” he bit out, pushing on Killian's shoulder like that would get him to do anything. They were probably just going to scowl at each other for the rest of the day and Emma would never call Tink back.

That didn’t seem like a particularly bad option.

And, really, she wasn’t sure why she was avoiding it.

She meant what she said. She didn’t want the job, wanted _home_ and this team in some kind of never-ending absurdly fairy tale type of way, but her phone seemed to be taunting her now and she’d finally started to be able to breathe easier.

She’d slept perfectly for the last two weeks. And slightly imperfectly after Casino Night, but that was neither here nor there and also kind of nice and she was only a little worried she and Matt were going to do damage to Mary Margaret and David’s ears in the team suite on Wednesday night. They’d both cheered very loudly for that power play goal.

Selfish.

That was the word for it.

She didn’t want to shake the metaphorical boat or start worrying again and it was all easier to ignore than acknowledge and she wanted to know what Ruby was talking to Merida about.

Husinger had been a healthy scratch on Wednesday.

“Ah, shit that’s what it’s called,” Killian muttered, jerking Emma out of her own thoughts and she was only slightly surprised to find there was still a conversation going on around her. “I can't believe I forgot that.”

“See, not nearly as smart as you think you are, Cap,” Victor grinned. He sank onto the edge of the desk in the corner of the room, making some noise of approval when there was another knock on the door and the specialist from before was back.

She didn’t have a stethoscope around her neck.

“Your bedside manner could use some work, Victor,” Emma said, twisting when Killian tried to pull her closer to him It was a strange balancing act – she was still standing in between his legs and it probably wasn’t all that professional, but Emma was still considering strangulation methods, so she figured she was losing whatever professionalism battle they were all staging.

It might have just been her.

Killian kissed behind her ear. “Stand down, love.”  
  
She huffed, but didn’t say anything else and Dr. Tocorro smiled when she glanced at both of them. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Jones,” she said. “Mrs. Jones.”

Emma nodded, butterflies doing something entirely different than they had during the flirting and she hoped her heartbeat didn’t sound _that_ loud in the office. That would have been embarrassing. Tocorro didn’t move. Victor didn’t move.

This was absurd.

“So, were we just going to stand here or…” Emma muttered, Killian’s laugh lingering in the air around her and possibly working its way into her. His hand tightened around her waist, a hold she’d almost forgotten was there.

That seemed important.

And also kind of absurd.

“We do have a game later,” Killian reasoned. He glanced meaningfully at Victor, met with a pointed eye roll, and Tocorro dug the toe of her shoe into the linoleum floor under her. “And,” Killian added. “A kid who very much wants to get on the ice before the game.”

“I knew it,” Emma said, not quite yelling and not quite turning because Killian’s arm was still there and she wondered if he maybe _was_ secretly working out still. She’d have to ask Ariel about muscle mass later.

“The kid’s got a hell of a wrister,” Victor muttered. “I think he stunned Jeff the other day.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“Very chatty team and an even chattier athletic trainer.”  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
“You guys hear about Husinger yet?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Killian sat up a little straighter, palm flat on the curve of Emma’s opposite hit and Tocorro looked incredibly uncomfortable. “What do you know, Victor?” he demanded, but they didn’t have time for rumors or gossip when there was a specialist standing in front of them with news could that could change _everything_.

Tocorro coughed politely, head tilted and eyebrows lifted in unspoken question. Emma bit her lip. “I do have some news,” she said lightly, Emma’s heart lurching in her chest. Killian mumbled something, some kind of promise or guarantee he couldn’t make even if there hadn’t been headaches in a week.

“Don’t look like that, Cap,” Victor said. “It’s fine.”  
  
Emma tensed. “What?”  
  
“Fine,” Victor repeated, taking his time on all four letters like that would make the word sound less important or possibly more important. The most important felt a little too dramatic, but it had been that kind of day.

“Well,” Tocorro amended. “Fine is a bit of a--”  
  
“--What?”  
  
“Swan,” Killian muttered, but her hair hit him in the cheek when she shook her head. They were the least professional adults in the entire NHL.

“An answer, Victor.”  
  
“Actually, it’s got to be me,” Tocorro said, a small smile on her face as she waved one of her hands through the air. The other was holding a clipboard that felt more official than anything else. Emma nodded. She hoped she nodded. She wasn’t sure she had.

“With everything that happened,” Tocorro explained, “the final decision has to be an independent source. Obviously I’ve consulted with Dr. Whale and even the staff in New Jersey, but the league can’t afford another mistake or misdiagnosis and, well, as I said--”  
  
“--It’s got to be you,” Emma finished. She needed to stop interrupting people.

“Exactly that.”  
  
“So?” Killian asked, an obvious and forced calm in his voice. Emma’s lip was bleeding. She was going to have to call Merida if they were going to be late. “What’s the exact, not quite fine part?”  
  
Tocorro took a deep breath, stepping further into the room and Emma felt her shoulders straighten, trying to line up to the importance of the moment or simply fight against the sudden tension in the air.

Killian’s hand tightened. She rested hers on top.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say fine,” Tocorro started. “But it’s...optimistic.”  
  
“What is?”

“The diagnosis. And the future.”  
  
“You’re really going to have to be more specific than that,” Emma said, frustrated when the sentence turned pleading and Victor almost looked at her in sympathy. “Please.”

“Concussions are dangerous things. Possibly the most dangerous part of this game because there’s no discussion about them. There are helmets and hits and everything should be fine, even when grown men are throwing punches at each other.” Tocorro stared pointedly at Killian, the heat on his cheeks obvious when Emma didn’t turn around. Her legs wouldn’t move anymore.

That seemed ironic. And kind of annoying.

“I’m worried we’re not getting to the almost fine part of this,” Killian said. “And I haven’t punched him again, so I don’t think that’s the issue.”  
  
Tocorro shook her head. “It’s not.”  
  
“Then…”  
  
“Then I wouldn’t call you fine yet, Mr. Jones. I think you have potential.”  
  
“To?”  
  
“Play quite a bit of hockey still.”

Emma snapped her head around so quickly she was momentarily worried for the state of her neck, biting the side of her tongue in the process and there was _too much_ blue in Killian’s gaze when he gaped at her. The muscles in his throat moved when he swallowed, shoulders shifting when he took another deep breath that seemed to use all the available oxygen in the room.

“If we take our time, Cap,” Victor mumbled, and Emma didn’t think before she kicked at his outstretched ankles. “God, fuck, Emma, stop it.”

“I am honestly going to murder you with your stethoscope,” she warned. “Where did you go to school? Why do you have a job?”

Victor paled, and Tocorro might have gasped, which was pretty fair. The whole thing was kind of...harsh, but Emma’s heart wouldn’t slow down and she couldn’t catch her breath and she’d been so goddamn worried.

She couldn't see through the tears in her eyes.

“Swan,” Killian muttered, but she squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head and it felt a bit like Peggy. It didn't matter. She was entitled to her quasi-breakdown after everything. “It’s ok, love,” he continued, moving his thumb across her cheek and just under her lower lip. “It’s going to be ok.”  
  
Emma nodded, eyes still closed and she could practically _hear_ his smile when her head fell back to his shoulder. They were probably making Tocorro uncomfortable.

“What does all of that mean?” Killian asked. He had to sit up straighter to actually look at the doctor, Emma masquerading as some kind of ragdoll while she let him support most of her weight. Her legs were honestly the worst part of her body. “There was concern I wouldn’t be able to play again,” he said. “How did that...did something change?”

“You listened to the rules,” Victor said quietly. “Emma, I swear to God, if you kick me again, I’m going to make you wait outside.”  
  
“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” she growled. He didn’t say anything else. She took a deep breath, jumping next to Killian and letting his arm wrap around her shoulders. “Seriously though. Playing quite a bit of hockey sounds incredibly optimistic.”  
  
“That’s because it is,” Tocorro nodded. “But as Dr. Whale so bluntly pointed out, Mr. Jones wasn’t exactly following the rules in the last few weeks.”  
  
Killian clicked his tongue, cheek pressed against the side of Emma’s head and maybe the Hippocratic Oath should include a shorter medical explanations.

“Concussions aren’t simple,” Tocorro said, ignoring Emma’s not-so-quiet huff when she started repeating herself. “They’re difficult enough to diagnose and even more difficult to treat. It’s, more often than not, a waiting game, particularly with post-concussion syndrome. And it’s encouraging to hear that Mr. Jones hasn’t suffered anymore headaches or vision issues in the last three weeks. The MRI looked positive, there hasn’t been any sign of other issues--”  
  
“--What kind of other issues?” Emma asked sharply.

“Swan.”  
  
“What kind of other issues?” she repeated.

“Some post-concussion syndrome suffers experience anxiety and memory issues. Concern about what’s going on with their body and the future and how to deal with the symptoms. But, as I said, Mr. Jones clearly isn’t. Still knows how to work a power play even off the ice.”  
  
Emma blinked, Tocorro’s smile wide and knowing. “Yeah,” she muttered, and Killian’s lips brushed over her hair again. “That’s definitely true.”  
  
“The concern a few weeks ago was that the fight would have reaggravated the issues we were dealing with originally. But there was no sign of another concussion and no sign of any symptoms since then.”  
  
“Which means more hockey?”  
  
“That’s up to Mr. Jones.”  
  
“What?” Killian asked. Tocorro didn’t flinch.

“Up to you. And your family, of course. You’ve suffered concussions in the past, yes?” Killian nodded. “Multiple injuries like this are dangerous. Incredibly. But I do believe sitting for the rest of the season, limiting contact on the ice--”  
  
“--I can get on the ice? Skating?”

Tocorro nodded. “Probably not for a few more weeks. I want a full month of no headaches, no spotty vision, no further symptoms, but, yes, I think that’s possible.”  
  
Killian sighed, breath warm on Emma’s neck and just behind her ear. She squeezed his hand tightly. “You said injuries like this were dangerous though,” she said. “What...what does that mean?”  
  
“It means it’s not something you should hide from team staff. And that if it happens again, I can’t guarantee anything. But, for right now, as long as things stay the way they are, there’s no reason why Mr. Jones won’t be able to play next season. I think we’ve waited long enough for another Cup, don’t you think?”

Emma’s mouth dropped, and Killian’s laugh sounded as honest as she could remember hearing it. “I thought you were supposed to be impartial?”

“Oh, I am. But I’ve been around this sport for a very long time and dealt with a lot of athletes and a lot of families and…”

She trailed off, shrugging slightly like that explained anything. Emma was worried she was suffering from oxygen deprivation.

“She’s saying you guys exist on another level of athletic type support,” Victor said.

Emma shook her head. “Do you think before you speak?”  
  
“Not when I’m so consistenly frustrated with Cap.”

“You have to be careful, Killian,” Tocorro said, a sudden return to serious and proper that made the whole thing feel incredibly official. “You’re playing with something that’s very important and another hit like the one you sustained in Jersey could really keep you off the ice for the rest of your life. Do you understand that?”  
  
“Crystal,” Killian said. Emma smiled.

“Good.”

There were more instructions and physical therapy schedules that Ariel had probably come up with the night before and Emma nearly forgot whatever gossip Victor knew about Husinger. It was difficult to worry about that when Killian kept pulling her back to his side and nodding intently every time Tocorro told them something and his mumbled _thank you_ in Emma’s ear as soon as they slid into the backseat of a cab didn’t feel quite as dramatic anymore.

It felt like everything.

Which, honestly, was good considering the rest of her day.

The Husinger rumors seemed to be spreading like several different types of metaphorical wildfires – trade talks ahead of the deadlines and discussion on the subReddit about Arthur’s _preferential treatment_ or so said David over a string of text messages that were mostly just caps lock and exclamation points Emma was so distracted she almost forgot it was an hour before puck drop when she heard a knock on her door.

Mary Margaret smiled at her. And Matt was already talking. “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom,” he shouted, running into her office and leaping into her lap and it kind of hurt to have the wind knocked out of her, but it had been that sort of day too and she hugged her kid far too tightly.

“What? What? What?”

“I scored on Jeff!”  
  
Emma didn’t lean back, was far too aware of the precarious state her chair was in, and Mary Margaret’s smile widened. “Killian took video,” she said, stepping through the open doorway and sinking into the chair across from Emma’s desk. “It might have been the single most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. Barring that thing Leo did last night.”  
  
“I thought we weren’t comparing children.”  
  
“At least within age-type reason.”  
  
“Ah, of course,” Emma grinned, but the whole conversation was a little surreal already and Matt did not seem hindered by the shirt his face was pressed into. He just kept talking.  
  
“Mom,” he whined, and Emma did her best to look entirely serious and entire enthusiastic and she was definitely the second one.  
  
“Who let you on the ice, Mattie?” That got him to stop talking. Mary Margaret was going to sprain her face muscles. “Dad?”

Silence.

Relative silence. Mary Margaret tried not to laugh.

“Reese's, that was awful,” Emma muttered, but her eyes never moved away from Matt’s face and he was wearing another Jones jersey. “And why are you up here? Where’s David? Oh God, is David talking to Killian about the subReddit stuff because I really don’t know if he can deal with that.”

“Of course not.”  
  
“Then…”  
  
“Am I late?” Ruby shouted, barreling into the office with what appeared to a bottle of actual champagne in her hands. Emma couldn’t move her head quick enough.

“Late for what?”  
  
“Mom, Mom, Mom,” Matt said quickly, pulling on the front of her shirt and she needed to put her jacket back on before she went to the suite. No one was answering her questions. Mary Margaret might have been answering Ruby’s.

“No,” she said. “She definitely hasn’t done anything yet.”  
  
Ruby tilted her head. “How can you tell?”  
  
“Because she’s talking about subReddit stuff.”  
  
“Aw, Em, you’re not supposed to look at that. Hey, mini-Jones,” she added. “I heard you wrecked Jeff during skate this afternoon.”  
  
Matt nodded, although Emma was fairly certain he had no idea what _wrecked_ meant. “Mom, Mom,” he yelled again, and she inhaled deeply eyeing him with something she hoped looked vaguely authoritative and slightly maternal. Her phone was ringing. “Can we go on the ice again later? I want to race Rol again.”  
  
“Again?” Emma echoed, Ruby wincing when she glanced her direction.

“Your husband is a great, big giant pushover. And Scarlet is even worse.”

“Don’t tell him that. He’ll take personal offense to even the idea.”  
  
“Please, I know that.” She sat down, somehow finding an inch of space on the arm of the chair Mary Margaret had commandeered. “You know what else I know?”  
  
“No, but I’ve got a very strong feeling you’ll tell me in detail soon.”  
  
“I know you went to the doctor’s today.” Emma’s eyes widened, the the threat of her own headache lingering at the base of her skull, but Ruby didn’t look deterred and Matt was blissfully unaware, still shouting about racing plans and wrist shots and that was definitely champagne. “And,” Ruby continued. “I know that Ariel was very excited and possibly crying and you guys didn’t want to make a big deal before the game, which is nice, but also kind of stupid and--”  
  
“--God, get to the point,” Emma sighed.

“We know that you haven’t actually called the league back about this job,” Mary Margaret said quietly, an unexpected hint of judgment in the words.

“So we’re here to fix that,” Ruby announced. “With emotional support and very expensive champagne.”  
  
Emma lifted her eyebrows, trying to read the label and scoffing when her gaze landed on the first few letters of _Korbel._ “Very expensive, huh?”  
  
“Well, depends on who you ask.”

“And I’m asking you?”  
  
“Obviously,” Ruby grinned, leaning forward to nudge Emma’s blinking phone towards her. “End of the month, Em. And we’re super psyched you’re not leaving.”  
  
“But, like, way more sincere than that,” Mary Margaret corrected.

Emma chewed on the side of her tongue. That was a mistake. “How do you know I’m not leaving? Also, technically, I wouldn’t have. It was New York based.”

Ruby made a noise in the back of her throat, an obvious disagreement that was almost as offensive as calling Korbel very expensive champagne. Mary Margaret sighed. “You know what we mean,” she said. “Leaving us. Collectively. And we know because if you wanted to do this, you would have already.”  
  
“Plus you were totally freaking out about Cap,” Ruby added. “Like. Freaking out.”  
  
Mary Margaret swatted at her side, another sigh and Emma kind of felt like she’d chugged all the shitty champagne in front of her already.  “Understandably,” Mary Margaret said. “We were all kind of freaking out. Collectively. Again.”  
  
“This is heavy-handed, Reese’s,” Emma accused, but it was also pretty goddamn nice and the kid in her arms was talking about power play success rates like he was the coach of the New York Rangers.

Maybe eventually.

Maybe.

Hope was as nice a word as home.

“That’s the only way she knows how to operate,” Ruby reasoned. She tapped on Emma’s phone again, ignoring Mary Margaret’s tongue click and Emma’s eye roll and--

“No time like the present, right?” Emma asked.

“I mean, technically, it should have been last week, but you and Cap snuck out of Casino Night. So it’s almost understandable that you were distracted. And I suppose beggars can’t be choosers when dealing with the power of true love.”  
  
“That wasn’t heavy-handed?” Mary Margaret balked.

Emma shook her head. “That didn’t even make sense.”  
  
Ruby growled, low in the back of her throat and it probably would have been menacing if she weren’t popping the top on the champagne, bubbles overflowing and Matt’s laughter seemingly permeating the air and they were going to win the night.

The world owed them this game.

Or something less lame.

“Cover your ears, mini-Jones,” Ruby instructed, and Emma wasn’t at all surprised to see him do just that. “The sooner you make this shitty phone call, the sooner you can drink this shitty champagne in celebration of...I don’t know, happiness with your very devoted friends and then you and your husband can tell us how the doctor’s went today. Deal?”  
  
Emma swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and eyes determined to set some kind of blinking record, and she knew she nodded when her hair moved on the back of her neck.

Tink answered on the third ring.

And the Rangers won – a lopsided victory over the Sabres that didn’t mean much of anything because they’d fallen out of the Wild Card standings in the last two weeks and the playoffs weren’t so much a goal anymore as some potentially impossible feat, but the power play didn’t look like garbage and none of it mattered when they all piled into the restaurant that night.

“So, uh…” Will said, slouched in one of the booths with an empty plate nearby. Roland was on the other side of the table, curled into a ball in the corner with Matt against his side, both of them very clearly trying not to fall asleep.

Killian glanced at Emma, one side of his mouth tugged up. She shrugged. “What, Scarlet?” he asked, moving into her space and those magnets were really starting to get distracting.

“Are we allowed to ask questions or is that against the rules?”  
  
“Oh my God, Scarlet,” Robin groaned. “We talked about this.”  
  
“You did?” Emma asked.

Anna nodded. “In detail.”

She refused to give Peggy up for most of the game, and her arms must have been aching by the final whistle, but they were all a little worried about what Peggy would be able to knock over if her feet touched the ground at any point. Killian kept mumbling _baby thief_ under his breath all night.  

“You didn’t have to do that,” Killian said. “It’s not exactly a secret.”  
  
Phillip made a contradictory noise, quietly when Aurora flicked her fingers on his chest, but David did the same thing and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like subReddit rumors. “You’ve got to stop looking at those,” Emma said.

“Where would you get your information from?”

“Probably the actual NHL players I know. And the team I work for. And, you know, the actual NHL player I’m married to.”

She’d never heard an actual explosion, but there’d been several close calls in Emma’s life – most of them seemed to revolve around that stupid hockey team and the even more stupid players, all of whom were far too involved in each other’s lives and successes and it kind of felt like the walls were shaking.

Killian laughed.

Ruby was arguing with Eric about being behind the bar. His champagne was probably better than whatever they’d had in Emma’s office.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Robin stammered, waving his hands in the air. “Was that a confirmation on both things?”  
  
Emma nodded. “It might have been.”  
  
“Em,” Will groaned, sliding down the bench until his feet were back on the floor. “Are you serious right now? Straight answers. Both you and Cap.”

“You keep making that face, Scarlet, I’m not going to know whose the four-year-old, you or my actual kid.”  
  
“That seems to suggest I’m also your kid in this scenario.”  
  
“No, because that’s weird, but sometimes…”  
  
“Ah, don’t finish that sentence. Please.”  
  
She smiled, gasping loud enough she definitely woke up Peggy as soon as Will’s arms wrapped around her and it was difficult to breathe. “You and Cap are both incredibly stupid, do you know that?” Will muttered, but the sincerity was honest and his arms were tight.

“If that’s a compliment, I think you might have missed your mark a little.”  
  
“That’s because I’m frustrated you didn’t actually answer my question.”

“Seems to be a trend, honestly,” Emma mumbled, glancing over her shoulder, but Ruby brushed her off and Eric was already lining up shot glasses.

She waited a moment for her lungs to recover before turning back towards Killian, an unreadable expression on her face that made Emma’s pulse pick up and the butterflies in her stomach returned, fluttering and flapping metaphorical wings and he bent his knees before Matt collided with his legs.  

They were very well practiced.

“When?” Killian asked softly, and Emma knew he couldn’t actually say the word louder, the threat of a shake in his voice and possibly his soul and they were going to ruin the psyche of everyone in that restaurant when they inevitably started making out.

“Before puck drop.”  
  
“You didn’t--”  
  
“--Win first, right?” Emma shrugged. “Everything after that.”

“Emma.”  
  
“Nah, c’mon, that’s really stupid.”  
  
“You’re the most eloquent person I know.”  
  
His expression didn’t change – still staring at her like several universes and every single trophy the NHL gave out and neither were doing much to help the butterfly army in her stomach, but they’d been doing this long enough that she was almost used to it.

Or probably would be at some point.

She hoped not.

“What did she say?” Killian ask. “Did you talk to Tink?”  
  
“She was super pissed,” Ruby muttered, grabbing a shot before Eric or anyone else in the restaurant could stop.

“No, she wasn’t,” Emma argued. Killian lifted his eyebrows. “She wasn’t. She was...not super pleased, but I’m...I mean I kept ignoring her calls, I think she knew she was fighting some kind of losing battle.”

Killian didn’t nod, not exactly, but his tongue darted between his lips and Emma could feel his smile when his mouth landed on hers. Hard. Again. There were more shouts the longer they stood there, jeers and cheers and a few whistles that were either Will or Roland and Matt had started swatting at both Emma and Killian’s arms at some point.

“Absurd upper body strength,” Emma mumbled, somehow standing on tiptoes with an arm slung over Killian’s shoulders. “I know, Mattie, I know. We’re paying attention to you now, kid, I swear.”

Matt grinned at them – a look that was almost identical to Killian’s and someone’s phone shutter snapped. It might have been everyone’s phone shutter.

“Whatever,” Will grumbled when Anna pulled his phone out of his hand. “I think you’re just jealous I’m going to get more likes than you, little Vankald.”  
  
She stuck her tongue out. “Emma was right. You are a child.”  
  
“Can we actually get some confirmation here?” David yelled.

“He’s law enforcement,” Robin added. “You’ve got to listen to him. Those are the actual rules.”  
  
“That’s not true at all,” Killian argued, but his smile was still far too similar to the kid clinging to his side and Emma had more or less resigned herself to the swooning at this point. “You want to go first, Swan or…”  
  
She shook her head. “Yours is way more exciting.”

“Swan.”  
  
“Oh my God, one of you,” Ruby groaned, still holding a bottle in one hand.

“Fine, fine, fine. Ok. So, uh, we went to the doctor’s today.”  
  
There was a chorus of boos and more jeers and several shouts that they’d all stolen from the crowd at the Garden. It was absurdly endearing. “You guys are all horrible people, you know that?” Killian yelled.

“Nah, you don’t mean that, Cap,” Will promised, resting his forearm on Roland’s shoulder. “Get on with the goddamn story, though. You still going to power play us?”  
  
“You are terrible journalist.”  
  
“That’s why I’m scoring one-timers now.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“Jones,” Regina snapped, and her frustration might have been the only reasonable one. He winked at her.

“We went to the doctor’s again today,” Killian repeated, a look Emma recognized as _discipline_ as soon as the peanut gallery started to groan again. They stopped immediately. “And nothing for the rest of the season, but I’m going to…” He took a deep breath, wrapping one arm around Emma and the other under Matt’s legs and it was all so absurdly, stupidly _perfect_ it was almost ridiculous. “I’m coming back next season.”

Will might have jumped and Robin definitely _whooped_ , Phillip sagging slightly against Aurora like he was exhaling any sense of stress and worry and Emma understood that. Her gaze barely lingered on them though, flashing around the restaurant and finding the face she was looking for far quicker than she expected.

There was probably a reason for that.

There always was.

And he’d probably volunteered to stay in the team suite so Mary Margaret and Ruby could ply her with shitty champagne.

David nodded once when Emma looked at him, smiling softly and easily and she almost didn’t hear Matt’s question.

“Dad,” he whispered, burrowing against Killian’s chest like he did when he was little. Emma bit her lip.

“Yeah, Mattie.”

“Can we practice again soon? I think I can shoot that one’r.”  
  
Killian scoffed, but it was kind of a laugh and kind of relief and Emma understood that too. He looked at her, eyes a bit glossier than usual and her fingers kept tracing over the name on the back of Matt’s jersey.

“Of course, kid,” Killian promised. “Of course we can.” And for the first time in weeks, Emma knew it would happen. “I love you,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I know. I love you, too.”

They toasted more than once, emptying bottles and ignoring any idea that this was against the rules of a regular season, and by the time they climbed into the backseat of a different car, two sleeping kids draped over both of them, Emma was ready for the feel of Killian’s hand in hers and the muttered _thank you_ in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for clicking and reading and being nice. 
> 
> Come flail on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if you're down


	14. Chapter 14

The ice didn’t feel any different.

He wasn’t sure what he expected it to feel like. Ice was ice. There wasn’t much give to it and it was cold and solid and it was ice. Nothing was different, but it kind of felt like everything was different and Killian’s skates felt far too tight.

That might have been his lungs, actually.

It kind of felt like his lungs were shrinking.

And expanding.

And just generically not working.

He hadn’t even skated away from the boards yet.

He wasn’t sure his legs would work either.

“Cap,” Robin called, standing at the far end of the rink with a stick in one hand and several blurs that were actually several different kids moving around him. “It’s not going to melt as soon as you touch it.”  
  
“He’s touching it now,” Will reasoned. Killian turned to see him walking down the tunnel, a smile on his face and a bag of pucks in his hands and his skates probably didn’t feel as if they were doing permanent damage to several different toes.

Killian should have asked Kristoff about his skates. But that would probably require him to admit to several things he wasn’t sure he was ever willing to admit to and being nervous about skating was, easily, the most absurd thing that had ever happened to him.

“You going to move Cap or, like, what’s your deal?” Will continued, bumping shoulders with Killian when he tried to move over the boards.

“Can you control any part of your body? Or are you just trying to be a complete and utter asshole?”  
  
“The fact that you’re using all of those words gives me pause.”  
  
“And not your inability to get over the boards two weeks after the season ended?”  
  
Will shrugged and rolled his eyes and did something with his legs that could not have been good for his hips, but his skates didn’t skid when they landed on the ice and he stared at Killian like he’d just scored a hat trick and won another Stanley Cup.

They hadn’t.

Again.

And, really, that was the last thing Killian was worried about, but it had been a kind of strange last few months and not even making the playoffs was a strange change of pace for the New York Rangers.

That was kind of the subheadline for the entire season.

The actual headline was far less respectful.

There’d been questions and less-than-ideal Photoshops on the back page of _The Post_ and Killian wasn’t ever searching out subReddit posts, but they was difficult to avoid when he spent so much time around recently-named Sergeant David Nolan and it seemed like every single cab driver he’d hailed in the last two and a half months had several, very vocal opinions to share on the state of the Rangers front office.

And its decision to send Husinger back to the AHL after the trade deadline.

They’d brought in a new guy and he wasn’t _great_ , but Killian didn’t feel the innate urge to punch him every time he thought about him.

“I think you’re deflecting on things here, Cap,” Will muttered. He dropped the pucks at his feet, a sound that seemed to echo off the walls of the otherwise empty Garden and, possibly, in between Killian’s ears and this whole thing was actually pretty ridiculous.

He’d been on the ice before.

He’d stood at center ice, advised a power play that, despite the lack of a playoff berth, was actually pretty goddamn good by the end of the season, and followed a PT schedule with only a minimal amount of complaining. He and his kids had watched more film in the last two months than they had in the last four years, a jumble of limbs and thoughts on the couch and, more often than not, Emma came home to find all three of them tangled and asleep, with the tablet dead on the coffee table.

Killian could never remember to charge the tablet.

It was fine and good and as great as it could be when he wasn’t actually playing, but they’d agreed _not to rush this_ and Ariel had done so much research about _everything_ that sometimes Killian swore his head was spinning at even the mere thought of it.

And, naturally, Ariel had told Emma who made a schedule and made him promise _not to push it_ and Killian had agreed to that willingly.

He knew he was coming back.

It didn’t matter when.

But when was _now_ and now the ice didn’t feel different, but it didn’t feel quite like the home it had always been and that was an even more ridiculous thought than the rest of the absolutely insane thoughts he’d been thinking all day.

His skates were way too tight.

God, Will was totally right.

“We don’t have to do this now,” Will muttered, moving the blade of his stick under the closest puck so he could bounce it in the air. Killian arched an eyebrow. “It’s a nervous habit,” he explained. “Because you’re making me nervous. What are you thinking?”  
  
“That’s a very loaded question, actually.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Killian nodded, cursing softly when Robin appeared in front of him and doused the front of his too-small skates with a fresh coat of ice. “What the hell, Locksley?”  
  
“You going to move or what are we doing?” Robin asked, but his eyes darted towards Will and Killian didn’t try to suppress his sigh.

“We’re moving. We’re just--”  
  
“--Thinking about it, apparently,” Will mumbled.

Robin made a noise, not quite an agreement and possibly a little mocking and Killian forgot he was holding a stick until he realized he was resting most of his weight against it. Kristoff would kill him if he broke a stick and complained about his skates.

And then Anna would kill him and that was just going to get messy.

He didn’t have time for that.

He had to move.

“And were we going to address those thoughts?” Robin pressed. He leaned forward to grab another puck, handling like he was moving between sixty-seven defenders and this all felt a little full-circle. Matt and Roland were yelling at Henry about _getting in goal_ on the other side of the ice and Dylan kept shooting at the boards and they didn’t have a ton of time.

This wasn’t, technically, a practice or anything more than an _optional skate_ that Killian knew Arthur had only scheduled so he could get on the ice. Arthur was probably lurking somewhere in one of the suites upstairs.

With Victor.

And Ariel.

And maybe Emma.

No, Emma had some season ticket thing to worry about – end of the season wrap ups and future outlooks and offseason events to prep for because they were all going to be a little busy for the next few days and Matthew Jones was graduating preschool.

That was way more exciting than events or not-quite legitimate practices.

“I guess not,” Will shrugged when Killian didn’t answer Robin’s question, and he sighed again.

“You’re the two most impatient people on the planet, you know that?” Killian asked, but his voice lacked the edge he wanted it to and Matthew Jones probably wished he could skip preschool graduation so he could stay on the ice for the foreseeable future.

They’d gotten Henry into the net.

“What are the thoughts, Cap?” Robin demanded. He flicked his wrists, a quick twist and turn and the puck didn’t quite slam into Killian’s skate, but it was awfully close.

“Are you kidding me?”  
  
“An answer to the question or I’m going to keep pelting you with pucks.”  
  
“That sounds ridiculous.”  
  
“And kind of immature too,” Will added, still bouncing his own puck and he must have taken an entire box out of equipment. They were never going to use that many pucks. There were three of them.

Robin shook his head. “You do not get to say those words, Scarlet. You were the one trying to get Matt and Rol to race before so you could win--”  
  
“--Ah, c’mon, we agreed we weren’t going to talk about that in front of Cap. He’s going to slam us into the boards.”  
  
“I made no such agreement and that’s just incredibly untrue.”

“Which part, exactly?” Killian asked, pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t quite as annoyed as he was intrigued and it sounded like his kid had just scored. That was probably the reason for whatever he was feeling.

“You’re not going to slam anyone into the boards because you can’t even get on the ice. Also because you know A is lurking somewhere, watching this and you don’t want to deal with that.”  
  
“Ok, that’s just rude, Locksley,” Ariel yelled, a disembodied voice that probably would have been impressive if it weren’t also kind of terrifying.

“Oh my God,” Killian mumbled. He ran his hand through his hair, standing up straighter and glancing around like that would summon Ariel and it kind of worked. He heard her shoes before he saw her, a squeak and a bit of a stomp and the boards got in her way when she tried to launch herself at Robin.

Will caught her around the waist.

“Where were you hiding?” Killian asked. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I wasn’t hiding. I was...”  
  
“Lurking?” Will laughed, an arm still around her and she’d somehow managed to perch on the edge of the boards, feet dangling over the ice and one shoe threatening to fall off.

“Screw you, Scarlet. I was not lurking either. I was watching and doing my job, which, incidentally Cap, it doesn’t seem like you’re doing much of.”  
  
“It’s the offseason,” Killian pointed out. “Technically speaking I don’t have a job. I am on vacation. This is voluntary skate.”  
  
“Have you ever not skated at a voluntary skate? Or an involuntary one?”  
  
“That sounds like torture skate.”  
  
“God, you’re annoying, you know that?” Killian grinned, turning a bit and the ice really didn’t feel different when he moved. His lungs were starting to feel a bit normal again. “And,” Ariel added. “Just because you’re cool to skate now does not mean you get to ignore me, you know that right?”

“I would never ignore you, Red.”  
  
“Do not lie straight to my face. Don't insult me like that.”  
  
“Is he totally cured if he can’t even skate to the circle?” Will asked, and they’d apparently moved out of the _understanding_ portion of the conversation.

Ariel made a face. “He’s not ever totally cured. That’s not how concussions work.”  
  
“Don’t act like Scarlet should know that,” Robin muttered. Will flipped him off. And both Killian and Ariel mumbled _there are kids here_ under their breath.  
  
He skated backwards, one hand held up in surrender and a knowing smile on his face. “Aye, aye Mom and Dad.”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” Ariel grumbled, another insult that lacked any sort of actual insult and they were all far too comfortable with each other. “I’m serious though, Cap. Walking and we’re going to do some of those balance things.”  
  
“It really does take away from the seriousness of it when you call it _things_ , you know,” Killian said. Ariel tried to kick at him, but it only ended with her right shoe sailing across the entire goddamn rink and it was a miracle any of them stayed standing.

Killian was very thankful for the stick in his hand.

Ariel yelled a string of insults at them again, cursing them to several different hells and underworlds and none of them made a move to go get her shoe. “You guys are the worst,” Ariel shouted, trying to keep her bare foot away from the ice and Killian’s sides were starting to ache.

He was fairly certain Will had tears in his eyes.

Robin couldn’t even stand up.

“Will one of you seriously go get my shoe?” Ariel asked. “I”m not walking back to my office with one shoe.”  
  
“No one is kicking you off the ice, A,” Robin muttered, laughter clinging to the words he could barely get out.

“I’m going to tell Gina to lock you out of your apartment later.”  
  
“Nah, the kids are with me. She won’t do that. I win.”  
  
“Screw you, Locksley.”  
  
“Ariel,” Will gasped, a hand to his practice jersey and a scandalized look on his face. “The children! Your child! Think of the children!”  
  
It looked like she was trying to shoot lasers out of her eyes at them.

“Get my goddamn shoe!”

“This is why you shouldn’t resort to violence like that,” Robin grinned. He was still trying to stick handle against no one. Killian was going to tell Gina that later.

“We’re trying to better the game,” Will added. “Also, as an aside, where were you lurking?”

Ariel growled. “Stop using that word!”  
  
“Not an answer.”  
  
“I was walking here. There was no hiding. There was no lurking. I was late because, unlike you guys, I still have stuff to do in the offseason and things to get ready for later.”  
  
Killian blinked at the tone of her voice, Ariel’s eyes widening and her lips pulled back behind her teeth as soon as she realized what she’d said. Will whistled. “What does that mean, exactly?” Killian asked.

Her shoe was probably going to stick to the ice.

“Nothing.”  
  
“I thought you didn’t want to hear the lies.”  
  
“Only when it came to you and skating, which, you know, you’re still not doing.”  
  
“You’re a worse liar than Emma is.”  
  
“I’m going to tell her that,” Ariel warned, but Killian shrugged. Will whistled again. “It’s very frustrating when you won’t take my insults or threats seriously.”  
  
“It’s probably got something to do with us knowing each other for so long,” Will said. The puck on his blade fell back to the ice, another crash that sounded far too loud and this conversation was confusing. They needed to pick a lane – serious or teasing or something that didn’t affect Killian’s lungs quite so much.

He hoped Emma ate lunch. He hadn’t had to bribe Merida in weeks, had spent most of March _actually_ eating lunch with his wife and hot chocolate dates turned into walks up Broadway and actually going to that Shake Shack a few blocks away and coming back to kiss her in her office and deserted hallways and they’d only been caught by Mary Margaret that one time, which was only kind of awkward, but Emma was right and she really should have called.

And Mary Margaret was right, Emma would have ignored her text messages anyway.

“Yeah, probably,” Ariel agreed. It sounded like the words physically pained her. “Seriously can I have my shoe back? It’s freezing in here.”

“Why aren’t you tying your shoes better, Red?” Killian asked, and he still hadn’t moved, which, honestly was only slightly troubling, but he was still kind of laughing and he hoped Arthur was in one of the suites if only he could witness all of this in person.

“Because I was trying to get down here. Obviously.”  
  
He stopped laughing almost immediately, lungs not entirely appreciating the distinct lack of oxygen he was providing them and if Dylan didn’t stop shooting at the boards, Killian was fairly certain he was going to go insane.

Matt was singing the goal song again.

He must have scored. Again.

“Yeah, got you know, don’t I?” Ariel asked, working a quiet scoff out of Killian. “You feel appropriately bad now?”

“Were you trying to make me feel bad?”  
  
“Nah, you’ve had enough of that this season, honestly.”  
  
“That was actually kind of nice.”

“We’ve circled right back around to cognitive balance. Assume that was my plan along. It makes me sound way smarter than I was planning on.”  
  
Killian grinned, digging the toe of his skate into the ice and the air was cold when he inhaled. That felt normal. That felt right. That felt the way it always had.

Because the ice hadn’t changed at all.

It was goddamn ice.

It was what it always was.

He moved.

And he’d never really been one for riding bikes – probably would have scandalized Mrs. Vankald if he’d ever suggested any of them rode a bike anywhere – but Killian assumed this whole thing was kind of similar, muscle memory and second nature and never being able to forget something that was so incredibly important.

The first time he skated on Garden ice he was fourteen and playing in some showcase and he didn’t score a single goal. Liam scored twice.

And he’d been so incredibly pissed off, he was still a little surprised he hadn’t tried to drop gloves with Liam in the middle of the visitor’s locker room.

They’d gotten dressed in the visitor’s locker room.

It was the only time he’d been in that part of the Garden.

He didn’t though. He walked out of the locker room with his skates tied together and hanging over his shoulder and his stick in his left hand, a scowl on his face that probably would have stayed there for, at least, several months if Mr. Vankald hadn’t been waiting for him at the end of the hallway.

Killian had swallowed, glancing up at the man in front of him and not arguing when he held his hand out, an unspoken command to give over the stick. “Let’s take a walk,” Mr. Vankald had said, and they probably weren’t supposed to be there, but no one was going to question them.

They’d ended up in section two hundred and eight.

They stood there for what felt like hours or days or another fourteen years of trying, desperately, to be enough and score enough and Mr. Vankald didn’t say anything at first.

He didn’t give Killian back his stick.

“You didn’t fall,” Mr. Vankald said eventually, not taking his eyes away from the ice.

Killian nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“There’s no guessing. You didn’t.”  
  
“I didn’t score, either.”  
  
“That doesn’t matter.”  
  
Killian glanced at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open and his lips went dry from breathing so heavily. “What?” he balked. “But, that’s...scoring is…”  
  
“Not the only part of the game. And not the only part of your game.”

He wanted to argue. He had every reason to argue. Killian scored goals. He skated fast and put the puck in the back of the net and Mr. Vankald still didn’t really understand what icing was at that point.

He didn’t say any of that.

“You think?” Killian asked instead, and Mr. Vankald nodded once. “Because Liam is--”  
  
“--Not you, Killian. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s a very good thing. It means you get to play your own game and decide if you even want to play.”  
  
“Of course I want to play!”

Mr. Vankald laughed, finally turning his head and Killian didn’t remember much about his dad, just knew he existed _somewhere_ , but, in that moment, none of that really mattered because he was fairly sure the man in front of him was everything a father was supposed to be or could be and he’d figure out what icing was eventually.

“Then you will,” Mr. Vankald said easily. “And you’ll be as good as you can be. You’ll get back on this ice and you’ll skate as fast as I know you can and you’ll probably set some kind of scoring record for whatever team you play for.”  
  
“You think?” Killian asked again, voice a little softer and a little more cautious. Mr. Vankald didn’t blink – in the years after that was always the one thing that stood out the most, the easy sense of confidence that seemed to exist around him, as if he was just constantly certain everything would work simply because he deemed it so.

And because Matias Vankald may have been the single most stubborn person on the planet.

That was probably where Killian learned it from.

“I know,” Mr. Vankald promised.

He held the stick back out, lips quirking up when Killian had to shift the skates still hanging off his shoulder to wrap his left hand around it. “I think,” Killian muttered, staring at his feet, and Mr. Vanklad didn’t interrupt him. He waited. And believed. “I think I might want to play here.”  
  
“Here?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean...the Rangers haven’t won a Cup in awhile. It’d be kind of cool to do that and I know that’s not how the draft works or if I could even get there, but--”  
  
“--Hey,” Mr. Vankald cut in sharply, and Killian’s eyes nearly fell out of his head when he met the man’s gaze. Certain. Confident. And absurdly proud of his kid. _His kid_. “That might not be how the draft normally works, but if anyone’s going to take center ice at the Garden, it’s going to be you. I know it.”

“Not quite center. I play on the wing.”  
  
Mr Vankald laughed loudly, head thrown back and eyes closed and Killian stumbled over his own feet when he felt an arm around his shoulders. “That’s a very good point, my boy. Of course. Killian Jones, just right of center ice.”

It wasn’t the last time he’d hug Mr. Vankald – far from it, honestly – but it always felt like something changed then and there were some who said Killian was _too confident_ , too sure of his own talent and his own scoring ability, but he never fell on Garden ice.

And this was no different, skating on ice that was the same as it always was because the game was the same as it always was and Killian wanted as much as he had when he was fourteen.

For his kid this time.

And his family.

And the gaze he could feel on the back of his head as soon as his fingers landed on the top of Ariel’s goddamn shoe.

She cheered when he picked it up, eyes bright and _distractingly_ green and she wasn’t sitting in the seats, but Emma clapped as soon as Killian stood back up.

“Nice move,” she yelled.

“You impressed, Swan?”  
  
“If I tell you consistently is that going to do dangerous things to your ego?”  
  
“Undoubtedly,” Killian admitted, his lungs finally functioning like normal parts of a human body and Ariel was still shouting about her footwear and how cold the ice was.

“Ah, then better not risk it, huh?”  
  
“Probably not.”

Emma’s smile widened, shaking her hair back over her shoulders and it was a testament to _everything_ that Killian hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t alone. Anna rolled her eyes from her seat, feet propped up on the row in front of her and a Rangers t-shirt on that she’d absolutely stolen from Kristoff.

No one except team members got those developmental camp t-shirts.

She was holding Peggy again.

“You didn’t fall over, KJ,” Anna said, not quite yelling, but not quite _loud_ either and she had her phone out as well. He had some very strong suspicions about what Ariel absolutely, positively did _not_ know.

“Yeah, that hasn’t happened in awhile.”  
  
“Seems like a good sign.”  
  
“Doesn’t it?”

Anna laughed softly, shaking her head like she couldn’t quite believe the scene in front of her and that was fair because she probably knew about that walk several decades before and he’d been blatantly flirting with Emma.

“You might want to give Ariel back her shoe though,” Emma said, nodding back towards the boards and Ariel groaned when Killian shrugged again.

“She can wait two seconds. How come you’re up there?”  
  
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be, if I’m being honest.”  
  
“Nah, that’s not what I meant. How come you’re not here?”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Here,” Killian repeated, and he really should have been ready for it, but the very solid body colliding with his right thigh still managed to take him by surprise. He dropped Ariel’s shoe again. “You’re going to hurt your throat if you keep sighing that dramatically, Red,” he yelled, not bothering to turn around and Will chuckled when she inevitably stuck her tongue out at him again. Matt was already talking into his leg.

And trying to get him to move.

“Dad, can we race?”

“What?”  
  
“This is a very unorganized conversation,” Emma muttered, and he wasn’t sure how he heard her over the sound of pucks and Roland and Henry arguing about goalie interference, but no one knew what that was anyway and it probably had something to do with the flirting.

“That’s why we’ve got El,” Anna reasoned. Ariel sighed again. “Ah, damn. KJ, you better act surprised or I’m never going to talk to you again.”

“I mean…”  
  
“Do not do that, KJ. I’ll come down on the ice and challenge you to a fight, I swear.”  
  
“Please don’t do that,” Emma said. She pulled Peggy away from Anna, letting her feet rest on the ground and Killian resisted the very real urge to tell Ariel his seventeen-month-old daughter managed to keep both her shoes on at all times.

It didn’t matter anyway – Will was doing it.

“She’s not nearly as much of a threat as she thinks she is, Swan,” Killian reasoned, twisting Matt in front of him so he could rest both his forearms on his kid’s shoulders. “I’m serious, though, how come you’re up there? Is there anyone else lurking up there with you?”  
  
“Lurking?”  
  
“He’s got a very limited vocabulary, Em,” Will yelled. “But if you come down here, you think you can steal some more pucks? Little Vankald, go tell your boyfriend to steal more pucks.”  
  
“He’s in charge of the pucks, Scarlet. I don’t think he can steal them.”  
  
“Ah, yeah, that’s true.”  
  
“Are you telling me you stole pucks this afternoon?” Anna asked pointedly, an eyebrow trick that the entire Vankald family should probably have gotten patented at some point. They were all missing out on a very large residual income.

Will flushed, Roland laughing under his breath when he skated by to grab another puck. “I think she’s got you, Uncle Will.”  
  
“You are not the lawyer in this family, Little Vankald,” Will said, and the clack of heels coming down the tunnel was almost _too_ obvious. “I don’t have to answer to you.”  
  
“Is that supposed to make a difference?” Ruby asked archly. “And should you be up there, A? That doesn’t look safe at all.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be if Cap would bring me my goddamn shoe,” Ariel hissed.

“Did you say shoe?”  
  
“It’s a very long story, Lucas,” Killian explained, and Matt was starting to get frustrated they weren’t skating anymore. “I know, kid, I know. We’ll move again in a second, once Mom gets down here.”  
  
He glanced up at Emma, her mouth open slightly and he was absolutely a selfish ass because he was _absolutely_ trying to impress her still and always and _indefinitely_ , but she knew that and knew everything and he had some suspicions about who planned Liam and Elsa’s flight.

Again.

Or always.

Something less dramatic than that.

“I really don’t think we’re supposed to be down there,” Emma said. “Technically.”  
  
“Technically.”  
  
“You’re an incredible rule breaker.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Wow,” she laughed. “Not even like a little bit of an argument, huh?”

Killian shook his head, hair moving in the process and Matt was trying to stage a passing drill with Roland while also keeping himself plastered to his side. “Seemed kind of pointless, you know? Something, something open book.”  
  
“Does that work both ways?”  
  
“This is gross,” Will announced, Robin humming in agreement as he tried to get Regina on the ice. Her heels kept slipping. “See, I’ve got the majority, that’s how it works, right, little Vankald?”  
  
“You were very quick to point out my lack of law degree, Scarlett,” Anna said. “You don’t get to backtrack on that.”  
  
“Ah, worth the effort. I was serious about those pucks though.”  
  
“Do you own dirty work.”

Will groaned, but he didn’t argue anymore, skating back towards the far blue line so he could snap his stick against Roland’s ankles. That got him to stop arguing about goalie interference.

At least for now.

“It absolutely works both ways,” Killian guaranteed, suddenly remembering he hadn’t answered Emma’s questions and her smile was drifting away from amused and a bit closer to _charmed_ and that felt like another hat trick and another return to the ice and he hoped he didn’t ever have to do the second one again.

“Good to know. Arthur’s going to be pissed if we take over his practice.”  
  
“It’s not much of a practice to begin with. No contact. Voluntary.”  
  
“And,” Ruby added, perched next to Ariel on the boards and she’d already taken her own shoes off to avoid a repeat performance. “He’s sitting in the team box with just a questionable amount of paperwork and plans and I think several dozen whiteboards. So it’s not like he’s not aware of what’s going on.”  
  
Killian’s laugh seemed to fly out of him, body sagging forward and the kid still standing there did not appreciate it much at all. He didn’t fall over either.

Trends or history or _whatever_.

It absolutely did not matter.

As long as it kept happening.

Indefinite sounded a lot better in that context.

“See, Swan,” he said, moving an arm around Matt’s middle and resting his chin on top of his head. Anna took a picture. “No reason to object now.”  
  
“C’mon Mom,” Matt yelled. “You can race too!”

Killian widened his eyes, skating backwards and he didn’t let go of Matt, pulling him across the ice with laughter ringing in the air around him. Emma bit her lip. “If we all get fined for this, I’m going to make Scarlet pay for it,” she said.

“That’s totally fair.”  
  
“That’s not fair at all,” Will argued, but Emma was already moving and Anna might have been cackling, thumb hitting against her phone screen so quickly it was almost a blur in whatever section they were actually standing in.

“I think you’ve just gotten lawyer’ed, Scarlet.”  
  
“And that doesn’t make sense!”  
  
“Too late, don’t care!”

It took less than ten minutes for Emma and Anna to get to ice-level, but it felt like several lifetimes and Killian was absolutely impatient and he couldn’t stop moving. Neither could Matt, a fact both Robin and Will made sure to point out several times.

“Is this what he was like when he was a kid?” Robin asked when Anna swung her legs over the boards. “Wow, that was actually a pretty impressive move.”  
  
“Do not go all prehistoric on me, Locksley,” Anna warned. “I know how to get on the ice. And yes, to answer your question. Although Matt’s way more adorable than KJ ever was.”  
  
“That’s rude, Banana,” Killian muttered, Emma swatting his hand away when she moved onto the boards. He grinned.

“Also your kid is a way better skater at four--”

“--Four and a half,” Matt shouted. He nearly lost his balance when he tried to jump on his skates, an indignant look on his face that would have made all of them laugh if they weren’t too busy trying to make sure he didn’t fall over.

Roland’s hand landed on his back, just under the name between his shoulder blades and it could not have been healthy for all of them to be this emotional. Or supportive. It was definitely supportive.

That sounded better in this context too.

“Easy, Mattie,” Roland muttered, Henry a few feet away with his gloves already off like that would make it easier to catch one or both of them.

Killian glanced at Emma, her lips pressed together tightly like she was trying to avoid biting them. He skated half an inch to his right, hand back out and she took it that time, fingers lacing through his at the same time both Will and Robin groaned.

“Aw, shut up,” Emma mumbled, squeezing Killian’s hand and Ariel hadn’t ever tried to put her shoe back on.

Killian was going to bring that up later too.

“Four and a half,” Anna repeated. She had to hold onto Will when she reached forward to brush the hair out of Matt’s eyes, a move neither one of them entirely appreciated. “And still a better skater than KJ was when he was ten.”  
  
“I’d been playing for two years at that point,” Killian argued.

“Your kid is four and a half.”  
  
“You are just a fountain of support today, aren’t you, Banana?”  
  
She flashed him a grin, pushing off Will to glide across the ice and she didn’t fall over either. “Someone better have recorded that, I want to make sure I can brag to Liam and El when they get here.”  
  
“You know, you are absolutely terrible at keeping secrets,” Ruby muttered. She had her phone out. Or what Killian thought was her phone. “And Scarlet’s going to get a ton of new followers for these painfully adorable Instagram videos.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Will asked sharply.

Robin answered before Ruby could. “Your password is the easiest thing to break into in the world. Rol figured it out in two seconds.”

“Aw, Dad, c’mon,” Roland groaned, backing away from Will before he could check his ankles again. “But seriously Uncle Will, back to back and your number is just…”  
  
“Really, really easy to hack,” Henry finished.

“Yeah, exactly.”  
  
Ruby was cackling, Ariel wiping away tears and Emma hadn’t ever let go of Killian’s hand, slumping against his side a bit until he was supporting both her and Matt and he couldn't come up with a single reason to argue.

“This is a good thing, Scarlet,” Ruby continued. “I’ve got the ability to fix your sometimes questionable Instagram choices, plus record things for you when your phone is--”  
  
“--In my locker,” Will growled. “This is practice.”  
  
“Ok, but voluntary. And now we can record for posterity and you can keep bragging to Cap about your social media influence. Plus it’s great for the fans, right Em?”

Emma shrugged. “She’s kind of got a point.”  
  
“I hate both of you,” Will mumbled. “You better not delete any of my photos, Lucas.”

“How come Belle hasn’t ever told you to fix your passwords?” Henry asked. “She’s in charge of all that research and everything uptown. She knows how the internet works.”  
  
“Because my Instagram password is not the most important thing she’s got to deal with,” Will countered. “And how come your Instagram is just pictures of you and that girl from Casino Night? Who, let the record show, I know you were spotted with in several dark corners after the season ender.”

The whole lot of them exploded into laughter and shouts and both Regina and Robin were already asking questions – any worry about her heels and their ability to stay on the ice forgotten as soon as Henry blushed.

“Ok, that sentence isn’t even grammatically correct,” Henry mumbled, but the words got a bit lost when he was clearly trying to stare through the ice under his skates.

Will clicked his tongue. “You picking up corner tips from Cap and Emma?”  
  
“Jesus, Scarlet,” Killian yelled. Henry’s face, somehow, got redder.

“Yeah, yeah, you guys don’t even have to worry about corners anymore. You’re just like...stupid into each other in public at all times.”  
  
“Sneaking out of Casino Night,” Ariel coughed, bringing her hand to her mouth for emphasis and smiling when Killian glared at her. “If you even think about telling me you’re going to blow off PT once this offseason, Cap, I’ll get on this ice and kick you the shins.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, Emma’s body shaking against his and Peggy was trying to get on the ice. Or at least on the ground. The wobbling and weebling were almost consistently confident steps now and the baby locks on the lower cabinets in the kitchen didn’t know what hit them in the last few weeks.

She kept yanking on them like she was offended they wouldn’t immediately do her bidding.

“We didn’t really sneak,” Emma admitted, Ruby’s eyes widening and Robin’s knees bending when he laughed. “It wasn’t really a secret.”  
  
Ariel hummed. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. At least your kids are super cute and social media ready.”  
  
“And your threat is empty because you won’t put your shoes back on,” Robin pointed out.

“Eh, yeah, true, I guess. But only one shoe.”  
  
“You all know this is incredibly strange, yes?” Regina asked, earning a general hum of agreement and acceptance and she rolled her eyes towards the scoreboard that was inexplicably on for voluntary skate.  
  
Killian was fairly certain Arthur had just told someone to turn it on.

“Can we skate now?” Matt asked again, standing at the red line with a stick that was actually made for him. “I want to skate.”

“Ah, well, who are we to argue that, huh?” Killian laughed. He tapped his thumb against Emma’s wrist, landing just above her laces, before pushing forward, another easy movement that felt a bit like breathing, but that metaphor lost some of its weight when his lungs had been refusing to work earlier.

“Who you going to race against, mini-Jones?” Ruby asked. She was already looking at Roland, an expression on her face that had him rolling his eyes and mumbling _I know, Rubes, I know, don’t go that fast_ under his breath.

“Can’t I skate with you, Dad?” Matt asked, and Killian was not ready for that. At all.

He should have been, should have expected it as much as he knew his four _and a half_ year old kid still couldn’t really stop and they’d get to that part eventually, but his heart didn’t care and his lungs didn’t care and his eyes darted back towards Emma’s as soon as the question was out of Matt’s mouth.

She smiled. Again. Or still was. And either or were both pretty goddamn fantastic options.

“Sure, Mattie,” Killian said. “Blue lines?”  
  
Matt scrunched his nose – a perfect imitation of Emma that had several members of the New York Rangers peanut gallery practically guffawing from the bench. Killian crouched down, steady on skates and breathing evenly and he knew exactly what was going to happen next.

“You want to go fast, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matt said, rushing over the words until they were one enormous syllable of excitement and a complete inability to stop. “Can we?”  
  
“Absolutely.”

“Killian,” Emma muttered, at the same time both Will and Robin groaned “Cap” and he shook his head deftly.

“It’s fine, love. I’m fine.”  
  
“Cap, you couldn't get away from the bench ten minutes ago,” Will said, but Robin narrowed his eyes slightly and Killian got the distinct impression he was trying to read his mind. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, slinging an arm around Regina’s shoulders and nodding.

“Nah, he’ll be fine,” Robin promised. Emma gaped at him. “You can check me very hard if you’re wrong. No questions asked.”  
  
“Yeah, I will not just check you,” Emma said.

“I’ll probably help,” Regina admitted.

“It’s going to be fine, Swan,” Killian said again, standing back up and pulling the stick out of Matt’s hand. “Alright, kid listen. You’ve got to hold onto the blade, ok?”  
  
Emma’s eyes widened, mouth opening to protest, but Killian shook his head again and she’d let Anna help Peggy stand on the ice at some point. “If this ends badly, I’m going to let David arrest you later on tonight,” she muttered. “In front of your whole family.”  
  
“That’s reasonable.”

She groaned, but kissed him back when he ducked his head.

“Ok, Mattie,” Killian continued, pulling the stick against his side and he wasn’t entirely sure this would work, but he was somewhere in the realm of hopeful and skating and Emma had gotten Elsa and Liam to fly to New York again. And he wanted to go fast too. “You hold onto the blade and don’t let go. Got it? We’ll go around the rink and then I will hopefully still be in shape.”  
  
“Oh my God, Cap, you are not helping your cause,” Ariel groaned, pulling Dylan closer to her.

He ignored her. “Got it, Mattie?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s skate.”  
  
Killian nodded, gaze darting back towards Emma and she rolled her eyes when he winked, but he knew he didn’t imagine the hint of color in her cheeks or the way her fingers drifted towards her left wrist. He pushed off, a flush of adrenaline and experience and his lungs didn’t explode as soon as his skates moved over the ice, so he figured that was several steps in the right direction.

And it didn’t really take long to pick up speed – it never did at the Garden, moving over the emblem at center ice with practiced ease and years of doing just that and it kind of felt like his heart was beating in his ears, but he’d felt that way several decades before too.

Because it was the Garden and the taglines were there for a reason and the scoreboard was still kind of intimidating even after back to back Stanley Cups.

But it was also _his_ and Killian had always been absurdly possessive of this team and this city and this ice and how easy it had been to find a rhythm on it. It didn’t take long to get back to that, legs moving and the stick was digging into his side, but pain was some kind of abstract concept at this point and they both kept their edge through the first turn.

It was the second one that did them in.

Killian turned, the back of his blade digging into the ice and that was not how that was supposed to work. His kid wasn’t supposed to slam into his back either and, really, they needed to pay more attention to stopping because the whole thing ended with the goddamn hockey stick digging into what might have been one of his kidneys and both he and Matt ended up in a heap next to an Enterprise car rental ad on the boards.

Killian groaned, head dropping back onto the ice and it was _fucking freezing_ because it ice and there was a kid draped over his chest.

A laughing kid.

A very clearly happy kid.

“Killian,” Emma yelled, a note of terror in her voice that left several pounds of guilt sitting in his stomach. He couldn’t sit up, though, Matt still laughing in his ear with both arms wrapped around his middle and the stick was somewhere.

He hoped it was broken.

Emma couldn't really stop either when she slid towards them, hands flying up against the glass and body twisted above both Killian and Matt. Her shoulders heaved when she tried to take a deep breath.

“Mom, did you see that?” Matt asked, a knee in Killian’s hip when he moved. He was sitting on the ice. “We went so fast!”

Emma’s mouth dropped, more shouts coming and skates moving and Roland got there before anyone else did. “Are you ok, Hook?” he asked quickly.

Killian nodded, not able to stop the smile on his face and his eyes flickered towards Emma when she scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled, crouching down to try and make sure Matt’s limbs didn’t inflict anymore damage.

“Did we impress you, Swan?”  
  
“I hate you.”  
  
“I find that very difficult to believe.”

“You are the most stupid man I’ve ever met.”  
  
“Ask Henry about that sentence structure.”

“I’m serious about getting David to arrest you.”  
  
“Nah,” Killian argued, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and she huffed when one of her legs slipped underneath her. “I’m fine, Swan. We went very fast. Come here.”

Emma shook her head, lips a straight line and she was trying very hard to stay frustrated. Killian smiled and moved his eyebrows and Roland might have made some kind of noise of disgust. “I’m not sitting on this ice with you,” she said. “That’s not happening.”  
  
“Eh…”

She yelped when his free hand moved around her waist, pulling her onto his thighs and she wasn’t actually sitting on the ice, a fact he was more than willing to point out several dozen times if it got her to kiss him in the middle of the ice. “Lost my edge,” Killian muttered, pressing the words against the side of Emma’s jaw and she didn’t argue about the seating arrangements once. Her fingers moved into his hair instead.

Which, really, felt a little like cheating, but Killian wasn’t going to argue that and Ruby still had a phone in her hand.

“Eighty gazillion hits,” she said. “At least.”

“Is that the technical term for it, Lucas?”  
  
“You don’t get to try and charm me, Cap. I’m not married to you. You alright mini-Jones?”  
  
Matt nodded enthusiastically, already trying to get back up. “Did you see how fast Dad and I went, Ru?”  
  
“I did. And so did those eighty gazillion hits.”  
  
“Technical term,” Robin muttered. “Please don’t check me later, Emma.”  
  
She saluted, still on Killian's legs with an arm around her waist. Matt couldn’t find his balance again, feet slipping and sliding underneath him and the knees of his pants were probably beyond repair at this point.

He didn’t stop.

And that did something absolutely absurd to every single inch of Killian and every part of his soul and he felt Emma take a deep breath against him.

“One foot at a time, Mattie,” Killian said, holding his hand out and letting him use his shoulder as leverage. Roland kept hovering a few inches away. “You get back up and we’ll try skating again.”  
  
“Just maybe not that fast,” Emma mumbled.

“Mom,” Matt whined, but if Killian had some kind of _pre-grounding face_ , then she had her own expression fine tuned and every single person in the Garden knew it.

“We’ve got to work on that one-timer anyway,” Roland said. That was enough to distract from racing for the moment. “Then you can brag to all those other kids at graduation tomorrow.”  
  
“Yes, that’s exactly what we’re trying to do,” Killian said.

“Are we not?”

“We absolutely are,” Emma answered, pushing against his chest to stand back up and he didn’t really _need_ help getting back to his feet, but her hand felt incredibly good in his and he was definitely the most selfish person in New York.

Matt scored twice on Henry and three times on Will and only some of those were gimme goals and he absolutely bragged to the entire graduating class of Columbus Pre-School the next morning.

Or Killian assumed he did – it was difficult to hear over the cheering from the questionably loud and questionably large family in the back corner of the auditorium, all of them with phones out and Henry and Roland had made a sign and Emma might have cried, but she’d never admit to it and her hand didn’t leave Killian’s once.

“You know,” Liam said later, sitting on the kitchen counter in the brownstone with a drink in one hand and eyes that kept darting towards the door like he was waiting to be grounded. “I heard you couldn’t quite keep your edge on the ice yesterday, little brother.”  
  
Killian threw a pillow at Anna. He had no idea why there was a pillow in the kitchen. He was fairly certain it had something to do with the makeshift hockey game that was currently going on in the hallways and Mrs. Vankald might have actually been keeping score.

“It was on the internet, KJ,” Anna yelled. “You do not get to be mad about this.”  
  
“That is true,” Elsa added. She threw her legs over Anna’s outstretched ones, ignoring the cry of indignation it earned her and smiled like several metaphorical cats.

“She told you anyway, didn’t she?” Killian asked. Elsa nodded.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s not fair at all,” Anna cried.

Liam groaned. “You think you can bring it down, like, several decibels? Or is that just not part of your biological makeup?”  
  
“You’re just worried what Mom is going to say when she sees you sitting on the counter.”  
  
“That’s not true at all.”  
  
“Eh,” Elsa and Killian said at the same time. “Move over,” Killian added, kicking the refrigerator closed behind him and there wasn’t really that much room on the counter, but most of the chairs had been sacrificed to the hockey game.

They were probably all broken by now.

“You guys are all the worst,” Liam muttered. “And Killian was just trying to impress Emma yesterday, let’s not kid ourselves.”  
  
“It absolutely did not work,” Emma said, appearing in the doorway suddenly and Killian knew the tips of his ears had gone red. Elsa laughed.

“It’s wrong to just lie like that, Swan. It totally worked.”  
  
“You are way too confident for your own good.”  
  
“Nah, that’s historic KJ,” Elsa muttered as Emma moved across the room, tapping her finger on his knee so she could step between his legs.

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” Emma said. She didn’t turn around, didn’t say the rest of the words that loud, but they seemed to find their way into his very center and he needed to stop thinking about his soul so often. It was kind of morbid.

Or maybe a little romantic and that was probably more accurate where Emma was concerned.

He kissed her hair.

“Getting there though,” Emma added, and Killian refused to meet the gaze of anyone who grew up in that brownstone, far too certain of their expressions and their feelings and Anna sniffled.

“That’s absurdly emotional, Banana.”  
  
“Whatever,” she snapped. “Don’t act like you weren’t getting teary-eyed when Matt actually flipped his tassel.”  
  
“We practiced that.”  
  
“And that doesn't surprise me at all. You going to do the same thing for Pegs and all your inevitably cute kids?”  
  
“Are you aware of more?”  
  
Please,” Elsa said, waving a hand in Anna’s direction when her heel dug into her sister’s shin. “You guys are like....super parents.”  
  
“El, you’re, like, in charge of the entire state of Colorado,” Emma pointed out. Her voice shook a little though and one of her hands had moved back towards Killian’s leg, fingers gripping a bit tighter than usual. He rested his own hand on her shoulder.

“Only if she decides to actually run,” Liam mumbled. Elsa groaned.

“We were going to wait until later this week. We didn’t want to steal Matt’s thunder! This was not part of the plan, KJ.”  
  
“And what, exactly, was the plan, El?”  
  
She flushed, clicking her tongue, but she didn’t move her legs either and the footsteps in the hallway appeared to be waiting. Or eavesdropping. “To maybe run for the state house,” Elsa said quickly, and Emma didn’t _screech_ , but Anna did and they both clapped their hands over their mouth.

“She’s definitely going to,” Liam said, a picture of certainty and support and they were all a bunch of stubborn idiots.

Elsa shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I am, but we weren’t trying to do this today. Anna and I had a whole announcement plan and...ah, damn.”  
  
“Remember this when you tell me I’m the worst secret keeper in this family, KJ,” Anna grinned.

“And that’s totally Reese’s,” Emma added.

Killian looked at her – both Anna and Elsa flushing red and tapping their fingers on the kitchen table and the floor creaked in the hallway. One of the kids shouted about _offsides_ around the corner. “You’re staying aren’t you?” he asked, and she slumped in her chair.

“It’s no fun if you just know.”  
  
“Don’t ever play poker.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
“Honestly, Banana. Are you? For real?”  
  
“I mean, kind of,” Anna said. “I’m still going to be traveling, but Condé Nast is apparently defying the expectation of all magazines and actually hiring a staffer and you guys could probably use a babysitter and, so...yeah, I’m staying.”

He couldn’t move with Emma still standing in between his legs, but it didn’t really feel like that kind of moment and they all seemed to be blinking quite a bit.

Until Emma mumbled “I won the bet.”

Liam almost fell off the counter.

“How much?” Elsa asked. “And with who?”  
  
“Most of the first line. Rook got a little technical because he thought she’d stay, but wouldn’t say it until after the playoffs ended, and I thought that was stupid. Also I’d really like to take you up on those babysitting offers.”  
  
Anna beamed. “Deal.”

The floorboards creaked again, sure footsteps turning the corner and Mr. Vankald didn’t blink when he saw all of them sitting in the kitchen. “You two better get off of there before you do damage to the marble or your mother sees you.”  
  
And it wasn’t the first time that had happened – probably wouldn’t be the last, honestly, – but Emma’s hand moved back to Killian’s knee and he kissed her hair again and Liam nodded quickly, like that kind of thing happened every day.

Mr. Vankald was not the kind of guy who made mistakes.

He knew what he’d said.

And he’d meant it.

“Totally going to get grounded,” Anna mumbled, wiping under her eye.

“Also,” Mr. Vankald added, “your presence is all being demanded upstairs. The hallways a little wider up there, so we figured it was safer to start playing there.”  
  
“We weren’t worried about the stairs?” Liam asked, but his feet were already back on the ground and he was probably plotting plays and defensive schemes.

“Not if you lot make sure nothing happens.”  
  
“Sure, Mr. V.”  
  
Mr. Vankald nodded, the smile on his face feeling as natural as the pickup hockey game happening on the second floor and Emma smiled when she turned on Killian. “You want to go play?” she asked.

“Only if I can score on Liam.”  
  
Liam scoffed. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try.”  
  
He did. Twice. And Matt talked about nothing else for the rest of the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! They would never keep the ice on at the Garden for that long. 
> 
> Come flail on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if you're down


	15. Chapter 15

“A little up on the right.”  
  
Emma grunted, trying to shift the kid in her arms and that only ended with a foot in her thigh and a mumbled apology and they were going to rip the sign. And maybe the balloons had been overkill. They’d been Mary Margaret’s idea anyway.

“Reese’s, my arms are going to fall off my body,” Emma warned, glancing over her shoulder when she heard something that sounded a hell of a lot like several hockey sticks crashing to the ground. “Margaret,” she snapped, met with a pair of wide eyes and an innocent face that Emma was fairly positive her _other_ kid was practicing. “What did we say about running around?”  
  
“C’mere, Pegs,” Mary Margaret said, holding her hand out and pulling the _nearly_ two-year-old and decidedly rambunctious kid against her thigh. “That was totally my fault anyway, I got distracted by how crooked the sign is.”

Emma sighed, letting her head fall against Matt’s back which wasn’t really helping her general state of being at all because she could feel the stitching of the lettering press against her forehead and that just kind of felt over the top.

More than the balloons.

God, there were so many balloons.

“I thought we only had to go a little up on the right,” Emma muttered. Her arms were going to be incredible toned by the end of this. “A little does not suggest that it’s incredibly crooked.”  
  
“I didn’t use that word.”

“There was an implication. And maybe we should be using actual words. So my arms don’t fall off before we even get to puck drop.”  
  
“Your arms are going to fall off?” Matt asked, twisting against Emma and landing another kick. She grimaced.

“Not if I can avoid it. And why do you sound so interested in that, huh?’

Emma made a face, arms grateful when Matt rested his feet on one of the lower cubbies in the locker they were currently decorating and he laughed when she peppered his face with kisses. “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom,” he said, voice getting louder with every shout. They were playing a dangerous balancing game, but the jersey he had on was new and Peggy’s was almost comically large, even after being custom-made because they were _those_ kinds of people now and decorating Killian’s locker with signs their kids made the night before suddenly didn’t seem quite as ridiculous.

It was, after all, kind of momentous.

_The Post_ headline had been almost clever that morning – Jones’ing for a Comeback, which played very well to the collective sense of humor of most of the New York Rangers first line and the Vankald-Jones group text message, but David thought it was _lazy_ and Killian had rolled his eyes when Emma showed him her phone.

And then kissed her because it was the season opener and it didn’t land on Matt’s birthday this year, but that was only three days away and it was a comeback and she wasn’t really nervous.

Honestly.

She was excited and a little anxious and a little frustrated, really, because it was raining and the tent guys from Bed-Stuy had been incredibly difficult in the last week. She’d filled out so much paperwork she was positive she had carpal tunnel in both wrists.

Just to prove a point or something.

Emma wasn’t nervous.

At all.

She was fine. It was going to be fine. Killian had played in preseason games anyway and nothing had happened and practice was great and he really hadn’t argued Ariel’s PT schedule _much_ that summer, so that was some kind of miracle and it was going to be great.

That was even better than fine.

Great, good, fantastic, one-hundred percent totally ok.

Ok was not a good adjective for this situation.

She hoped he didn’t get hit. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do if he got hit.

“Mom,” Matt whispered, pulling on the front of Emma’s shirt and she hadn’t actually changed into something professional yet. She wasn’t entirely sure she was going to. The Jones in between her shoulder blades matched her kids.

And at some point she’d become some kind of sentimental freak.

Probably after reading that _Post_ story while Killian watched pre-game film with Matt and Peggy.

“Yeah, kid,” Emma said quickly, shaking her head like she was trying to get rid of conversational and vaguely emotional cobwebs. She wasn’t entirely sure it worked. She might have been a little worried. But only a little.

Not a lot.

That would have been insane.

He’d played in preseason games already.

This was not a preseason game.

“Can we fix Dad’s sign now?”

Emma blinked, licking her lips like that would fix whatever was clearly wrong with her heartbeat and they needed to order new walkie talkies because the one hanging from her belt was doing an absolute garbage job of delivering whatever message Merida was shouting.

If it had to do with the tents Emma was going to scream.

“We can absolutely do that,” she nodded. “Ok, come here, and try not to flail your legs out when you move.

Matt grinned – which seemed like an unfair card for the universe to play in whatever twisted game it was currently competing in with Emma – twisting and wobbling a little and one of his feet fell off the shelf. It slammed into Emma’s right shin.

She couldn’t quite stop her exclamation of pain, hissing in a breath of air and squeezing her eyes shut, but that only led to her being entirely unprepared for the rest of Matt’s body to collide with her chest and they should have staged some kind of walk through for this.

There hadn’t been time.

And Matt had gone to the _actual_ walk through anyway.

“Are you ok?” Mary Margaret asked, genuine concern in the question. Emma nodded, but she couldn’t actually voice her guarantee, slightly worried about the bruise she swore she could feel blossoming on her skin.

“Sorry, Mom,” Matt whispered. That was like several aces and some kind of royal flush and Emma didn’t really know any other card games, but the universe was definitely the dealer in this strange metaphor and had definitely drawn Blackjack as soon as it flipped its cards over.

Emma wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, ignoring the slight scratch of brand-new jersey fabric under her cheek when she leaned forward and he didn’t squirm against her kiss. So, maybe, she was the one winning the metaphor.

She’d lost track of it anyway.

“You know what I think we need?” Emma asked, Matt’s hair nearly finding its way into her mouth when he shook her head. “More stick tape.”  
  
Mary Margaret laughed behind her, a wide smile on her face when Emma twisted around. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of that before. That’s definitely what the whole project was missing.”  
  
“Well, we can’t afford to let these priceless works of art and questionable number of balloons suffer for our lack of planning, can we?”  
  
“That would be irresponsible.”

Emma’s arms ached, still or probably always would after this, but she swore the happiness was literally bubbling out of her soul at this point and she’d have to apologize to Kristoff for stealing all the stick tape.

“Can you see any in Dad’s locker, Mattie?”

He made a contradictory noise – which was only _slightly_ like Killian and a bit like Will when he didn’t appreciate particular whistles, and Mary Margaret’s eyes bugged slightly when she realized what was happening. Emma’s cheek muscles were starting to ache too.

She dropped Matt back onto his feet, fingers moving with almost practiced ease through the drawer he’d been standing on and he yelled _look_ when he found a half-finished roll.

“That’s perfect kid,” Emma said, pulling the tape out of his hand and neither she nor Mary Margaret were surprised when he grabbed a puck too.

“Put it in your pocket so no one sees you take it when we go back upstairs,” Mary Margaret suggested. Emma’s jaw cracked when it dropped.

“I don’t even know who you are right now, Reese’s.”  
  
Mary Margaret shrugged, but she’d snuck balloons into Madison Square Garden several hours before a season-opening event and puck drop against the Flyers and Emma probably should have expected that too.

She was fairly positive David was playing lookout at the other end of the hallway.

“Someone who bought real, high-quality balloons for more than one celebration.”  
  
Emma blinked. “What?”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
“Are you kidding me?”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“That makes no sense at all.”  
  
“Yeah, well I don’t want to be accused of not being able to keep a secret later on,” Mary Margaret said. “But I’d maybe reconsider sneaking out of the Garden later.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You said that already.”

“I know, I know,” Emma stammered, mind racing and trying to figure out what was going on at the same time she was trying to understand what the _hell_ Merida was talking about on the walkie-talkie. They needed to get out of that locker room. Soon. They had to go stand in the rain. Or not in the rain.

She’d punch all the tent people if there was actually rain involved.

“But, like….what?” Emma asked. Peggy wiggled against Mary Margaret’s side, dangerously close to a wail and that was not going to end well if they were still in the locker room.

“You can sneak out of the restaurant later,” Mary Margaret answered. “Just maybe don’t leave the Garden without going uptown first.”  
  
“We live uptown.”  
  
“You’re being difficult on purpose now,” Mary Margaret accused, but she couldn’t stop smiling and Killian’s locker was going to be covered completely in stick tape by the time Matt was done with it.

Emma shook her head. “I’m not, honestly. I am…”

She drifted off, teeth sinking into her lower lip and shoulders heaving when she inhaled deeply and it would have been stupid to start crying in the middle of the New York Rangers locker room. So she blinked instead.

That was way better.

Definitely.

For sure.

“Yeah, that was totally the goal,” Mary Margaret said. “Don’t bother asking if that was an intentional pun, it was and I expect you tell everyone how absolutely hysterical you think I am later on tonight.”  
  
“Hopefully after some real goals.”  
  
“I’ve got no doubt whatsoever.”

“Ah, that was good.”  
  
“Not the longest hope speech I’ve ever given, but it really is supposed to be a surprise.”  
  
“Still hit the mark,” Emma promised, letting Peggy grab ahold of her fingers when she managed to get back on the ground. Mary Margaret’s upper body strength was no match for her quasi-namesake.

“And,” Ruby added, coming around the corner like she’d simply been waiting to hit her mark in the conversation. Emma rolled her eyes. “She and Cap would totally sneak out of the Garden if they could. So we had to be proactive about this.”

“Don’t you have media to keep at bay?” Emma asked.

“Obviously not or I wouldn’t be here. And they got their stuff already because, you know, we’ve got that whole pre-game thing happening. With your carpet.”  
  
“How’s it look?”  
  
“The carpet?”  
  
“Yeah. Appropriately blue? Not damp.”  
  
“They put tents up, Em,” Ruby said slowly, like she was talking to a person who was slightly to moderately terrified of what would happen when her hockey-playing husband inevitably got hit against the boards that night.

It was hockey. That was how it worked.

Maybe Emma was worried.

Maybe might have meant definitely.

“And they look ok?”

Ruby nodded, smile spreading across her face like it was trying to set a record for being slightly frustrating. “I think they knew you’d threaten to run them over with several large machines if they didn’t do it perfectly.”  
  
“Aw, that’s kind of rough,” Emma sighed, but also kind of true and the footprints on one of the signs was only because Peggy had been trying to imitate her pacing in her office the night before. Merida had probably told Ruby that.

“And accurate. The tents look fine. The stands look fine. The carpet is exceptionally blue because it is the same carpet we’ve been using for decades.”  
  
“We haven’t been here that long,” Mary Margaret mumbled.

“Really? God, that can’t be right. It feels like forever.”  
  
“And that seems kind of depressing,” Emma pointed out. “Mattie, I think we’re good with the tape. Put that back where you found it, ok?”  
  
He made a noise, a jumbled string of words that made a hell of a lot more sense when Emma twisted to find he’d used _all_ the tape and she should have been ready for that. Ruby tried to turn her laughter into a convincing cough.

“You are an artist, mini-Jones,” she proclaimed, crouching down to wrap both arms around him. “Hey, how many hours until we hit the five-year-old mark?”  
  
“Sixty-three,” he yelled. Emma blinked again. Mary Margaret might have actually cackled. Peggy didn’t seem to appreciate either. She quite clearly wanted to knock over more equipment.

“That’s actually pretty close,” Ruby said. The smile on her face widened, but it might have also gotten a little softer and she was definitely in the running for _biggest pushover_ when it came to being charmed by Matthew David Jones, particularly three days before his fifth birthday. “We’ve been practicing,” she added, glancing up at Emma’s undoubtedly stunned expression. “Your kid’s going to be a mathematical genius by the time I’m done with him.”  
  
“That sounded really aggressive,” Emma muttered.

“It’s because we’ve been using major New York Rangers dates in history to help explain it.”  
  
“And that sounds like cheating,” Mary Margaret said.

Ruby shrugged. “Whatever works, right? As long as he knows how to add by the end of it.”  
  
“I think that’s what school is for, actually.”  
  
“You can help with the lessons too if you want, M’s.”  
  
“I mean, obviously, that’s what I want.”

Emma opened her mouth, not entirely sure what she was going to say, but sure it was going to be something _good_ and she was only a little disappointed when nothing came out. Her teeth clicked when she snapped her jaw again, another crack she didn’t entirely appreciate.

Ruby arched an eyebrow. “You freaking out yet?”

“No,” Emma lied.

“That was awful. Really. Like. As bad as it could possibly have been.”

“Yeah, well, you’re apparently staging math lessons with my kid in secret, so--”

“--So, that is not even remotely the same thing. You know it’s going to be fine. He’s probably going to hat trick.”  
  
“Please don’t,” Emma started, but it was already too late and Matt’s shouts were very likely doing damage to the paint in the locker room. And their eardrums.

Ruby winced, every single one of her teeth on display as she and Mary Margaret both tried to quiet the almost five-year-old kid who was actually jumping up and down with excitement.

And Killian would probably score a hat trick.

Just to prove a goddamn point.

Or inspire a slightly more creative _New York Post_ headline.

There were _more_ footsteps coming around the doorway, a flash of blue and far-too-long curls and Emma was still a little surprised how tall Henry was every single time she saw him. It wasn’t his birthday yet either.

David was the worst lookout in the history of the world.

“Hey,” Roland said. “We heard yelling. What’s going on?”  
  
“What are you guys doing down here?” Emma asked. “Shouldn’t you be outside?”  
  
“It’s raining. And we were waiting for you guys. Mer said you were here and we kind of wanted food.”  
  
“There’s food outside.”  
  
Roland muttered _ehhh_ and Henry didn’t quite swat at his shoulder, but it was pretty close, knees barely buckling when Matt slammed into his side. The kid was never going to stop shouting about hat tricks now. “There’s definitely food outside,” Henry promised. “And the tents look really good, but Mer did tell us you were here and we didn’t really want to wait in line.”  
  
“Man, you guys have got it good, don’t you?” Ruby asked knowingly, standing back up and immediately hitting her head with a balloon. “Where the hell did these even come from?”  
  
“Mom and Dad ordered ‘em,” Roland shrugged, a surprising sentence for _several_ reasons, least of all the actual words he used, but mostly because that meant the balloons had been ordered and this plan was extensive.

“Only because it was cheaper that way,” Mary Margaret explained.

Emma nodded, fingers drifting towards her left wrist out of instinct and she flexed her hand half a dozen times when she remembered. Ruby’s smile looked vaguely predatory now. And far too knowing. Henry laughed.

“It’s going to be fine, you know that, right?” he asked.

“Don’t try and get adult with me, kid,” Emma muttered, but Ruby whispered _freaking out_ under her breath and Mary Margaret was going to give them all detention.

Henry pressed his tongue into the corner of his mouth, running a hand through his hair – which felt like some kind of _power play_ by the universe. “I’m not. I’m pointing out facts. Did Rubes tell you about the hat trick guarantee yet because she should have.”  
  
“You’re giving away all my secrets,” Ruby groaned. “And, before you freak out, Em, or you, mini-Jones.” Matt snapped to attention, eyes wide and a little familiar, but he’d never put that puck back in Killian's locker. “Cap did not guarantee a hat trick. That’s just--”  
  
“--Us,” Roland finished. He pulled his own puck out of his back pocket, and Emma couldn't really twist her wrists still because that still kind of hurt, but she hadn’t had a _ton_ of time and it had been a spur of the moment decision anyway.

“How much do you get if you win?” she asked.

“A lot. Uncle Will thinks he’ll only get three points, but Hook hat tricked in a gold medal game, so this seems pretty par for the course.”  
  
“You’re mixing up your sports and clichés. Don’t let Anna hear that.”  
  
“Nah, she won’t. She was promising Kristoff we wouldn’t trash the locker room too much when we decorated.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“We all are awful at keeping secrets,” Mary Margaret said. Her eyes were glossy.

Emma hummed, mouth twisted and two different kids trying to hang off her side at the same time. She wasn’t ever going to change her shirt. “How’d you get the balloons into the Garden?”  
  
“David flashed his badge. I baked that one security guard more cookies. And both Roland and Henry promised they’d get said security guard’s granddaughter an autograph from Rook because she’s got a crush on him.”

“Does he know that?”  
  
“He’s been in media, Em,” Ruby reasoned. “Some of us are actually doing our jobs.”  
  
“Oh, low blow,” Emma muttered, but she couldn’t actually feel bad and Merida deserved the entire state of New York at this point. She glanced back at the teenager and almost grown adult in front of her – each of them decked out in head-to-toe blue and she hadn’t noticed Roland had both Robin and Killian’s number on his cheeks before.

It all felt a little full-circle.

And emotional.

Decidedly emotional.

“Anna did it,” he said, answering the question Emma hadn’t asked. Mary Margaret had lost the battle against crying. “And, uh…”  
  
“Here,” Henry finished, holding out a sheet of printer paper with half a dozen folds and one of the corners had ripped. “It’s raining. We had to take drastic measures. And we didn’t have, you know, crayons at home.”  
  
“You used crayons?” Ruby asked skeptically, Emma’s hands shaking a bit when she reached out and she knew every single person in that locker room was staring at her left wrist.

“We used markers that we just bought in the Duane Reade around the block,” Roland shrugged. “But we figured we should get in on the decorating action too.”  
  
It looked as _drastic_ as Henry promised it was, the markers running a bit on the slightly damp paper and they’d clearly run out of room with the block letters, but the SKATE FAST was still obvious even through Emma’s slightly blurry vision.

“It’s going to be good, Emma,” Henry promised, squeezing her shoulder and smiling with a confidence she was certain sparked a small, metaphorical fire in the pit of her stomach. “Plus Rol really wants his money.”  
  
“We’ve turned you all into degenerates,” Mary Margaret sighed, but Emma was already shaking her head and they needed to get out of that locker room.

She was fairly positive one of the sticks Peggy had knocked over was broken.

“No, no, it’s nice. That’s a super lame word, huh?”  
  
“Luckily you’re not the one writing the headlines tonight,” Ruby grinned. “Hey, he know what you did yet?”  
  
Emma shook her head – met with several decidedly emotional and possibly proud looks and Ruby muttered _oh this is going to be fun_ while Roland pulled another roll of stick tape out of Robin’s locker.

The rain wasn’t as bad as Emma had convinced herself it had to be, like the weather was being held to some kind of emotional marker, but it still took some finangling to get everyone who needed to be in the marked off section of the stands, into the marked off section of the stands and Anna could barely hold onto her phone.

“Mattie,” Emma said, doing her best to sound _adult_ in a situation where she couldn’t bend her wrist and her walkie-talkie was definitely broken. “What did we say were the rules while you’re up here?”  
  
“No jumping, no running away from Anna, no throwing the puck.”

The last one was a recent addition – Anna’s eyebrows flying into her hair when Matt listed off the rules – and Emma nodded deftly. “That’s right. And Pegs,” she turned towards the toddler already displeased with her options of being held by either David or Mary Margaret. Whoever wasn’t holding Leo. “No trying to run anywhere, even when Dad is--”

She nearly growled when her phone buzzed in her pocket, sure it was something to do with the cars or the scheduled player arrivals and Emma wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a fan brawl happening somewhere, just to keep her on her toes.

It wasn’t any of those things.

**Did you know that the Garden ceiling is the only arena ceiling in the world that’s concave. Something about better sound. So I expect good cheers tonight.**

“Em,” David muttered. “You’ve got to finish your mom speech or we’re going to end up with some very frustrated two year olds here.”

Emma shook her head. Her phone buzzed again.

**The first version of the Garden was built before b** **asketball was invented. That’s not relevant to our current sports interests, but is at least kind of interesting.**

**The Garden is the only venue where all four Beatles have played solo concerts. They never played here together.**

**The torch from the Statue of Liberty was kept on display at the Garden from 1876 to 1882.**

**Swan.**

**Swan.**

**Swan, you’ve got to at least acknowledge that you’re impressed by these facts, otherwise it’s no fun at all.**

She didn’t _quite_ giggle, but it was pretty damn close and David stopped yelling about responsibility when her fingers started flying over her phone screen.

_The Post is probably going to use your name in a pun tomorrow morning_.

**Is that a fact?**

_You want to bet?_

Emma heard the cheers before she could even come up with something witty to send back, knuckles turning white so she didn’t drop her phone. Anna took another picture.

Matt started jumping.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.

And it wasn’t going to do much to her _responsible_ marker, but Emma was having a difficult time focusing on anything except the smile on his face and the look in his eyes, gaze darting around the crowd like he was trying to find something and her heart possibly exploded when he found exactly what he wanted.

Killian grinned, running a hand through slightly damp hair because they couldn’t get the tents all the way to the end of the block. The city of New York, Emma was certain, was bound and determined to cause her as much frustration as possible, but any sense of _that_ was gone as soon as her brain processed how goddamn good Killian looked in his suit.

Blue.

Obviously.

The headlines probably wouldn’t mention how he actually ran down the carpet, sure steps that put Emma’s heart back together only so it could explode _again_ , but it was all she’d be able to think about for weeks after the season opener and the fans around them yelled when Killian moved up the stairs.

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” Emma muttered, a distinct lack of anything except swooning in the sentence.

Killian grinned wider. His eyes were incredibly distracting.

“Ah, well, I figured it was more fun to present my facts in person,” he said. He had to bend his knees to grab Matt, both arms wrapped around him and laughter lingering in the air and the rain drops and several different adults yelled _be careful, Cap_ at him.

Emma didn’t move.

She might have blinked again.

“I think you’re trying to show off,” she said.

“That’s an absolute guarantee. How’s it going?”  
  
“It’s way too easy, honestly.”  
  
Killian laughed – normal and confident and several other very positive adjectives and Emma forgot about her walkie-talkie entirely. His eyes traced over her again, like he was taking inventory or stock and it was equal parts overwhelming and something that made more sense than nice, but his mouth opened slightly when he realized she’d never actually changed.

“Oh, that’s not even fair, Swan.”  
  
“Maybe I’m just trying to inspire or something.”  
  
“Something?”  
  
“Something,” she repeated, pulling lightly on his tie when it threatened to twist underneath Matt. “A point. Or whatever.”  
  
“One point seems kind of lame, don’t you think?”  
  
The crowd around them cheered again – phones out and cameras recording and David kept shaking his head, like he hadn’t also been part of the hat trick bet. Emma did her best not to look too impressed, honestly, she did, but Matt was shouting _hat trick, hat trick, hat trick_ like they were the only two words he’d ever learned and both Roland and Henry were humming the goal song.

Killian did something entirely unfair with his eyebrows.

“A hat trick,” he said, not a question and they were going to cause seismic activity right there on 34th Street.

“If it’s not too much trouble, Hook,” Roland added. Whatever noise Anna made was not entirely human, Emma’s eyes widening to a size that was did more damage than her exploding heart.

Killian and David were both hysterical.

“What do you think, Swan?” he asked. “Seems reasonable, don’t you think?”

She nodded, still not entirely sure if she could remember the English language when he looked at her like that – as if he could absolutely score a hat trick based solely on emotion and feeling and want and that last one was a little out of place on the corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue.

Or it would have been.

Once upon a time with a different set of beliefs and a different set of dreams and hopes and a distinct lack of either, but that was then and now there was a comeback and headlines and--

“Maybe just a breakaway,” Emma shrugged.

Killian’s lips twitched. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. For posterity’s sake or whatever. Full circle.”  
  
“Seems rather reflective, love.”  
  
“I might be in that kind of mood.”  
  
He had to shift Matt to catch her around the forearm, fingers warm despite the distinct chill in the air and it felt like standing on Chase Bridge and balancing above center ice, but Emma’s breath didn’t catch when he kissed her.

On the goddamn corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue.

The fans cheered again.

“A breakaway it is,” Killian said, not bothering to pull away and it was only a matter of time before Emma’s phone buzzed again because this whole thing was probably being live-streamed on the subReddit.

She didn’t know if that was possible. She did not care.

“Dad,” Matt said, twisting in Killian’s arms with one leg hitched over his hip. “Did you see your locker yet?”  
  
Emma squeezed her eyes closed, not able to keep her sigh in her body where a responsible adult would have been able to. Mary Margaret cursed softly.

“I absolutely refuse to be labeled worst secret keeper now,” Anna announced.

“He’s five, Banana. I think he gets a pass.”  
  
“No, no, Dad,” Matt argued. “Not for another sixty-one hours!”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s freaky how close it is, isn’t it?” Emma asked, and Killian nodded slowly. “Apparently there have been math classes that I’ve been unaware of and it was a whole thing, but, uh...you should see your locker. And just the general locker room.”  
  
“None of this is making much sense, Swan.”  
  
“That’s because it’s all supposed to be a surprise.”  
  
“Who’s teaching Matt birthday-based math?”

“That was a good alliteration, and Ruby. I think it’s a play in whatever war she’s consistently staging with Scarlet, but that’s only an assumption from me.”  
  
“Probably a correct one.”  
  
“Charmer.”  
  
He grinned, eyebrows twisting and turning and Emma had never thought either of those things were possible until she’d met Killian Jones, but _that_ might have been par for the course and now she was stealing a teenager’s clichés.

“How many headlines do you think we can get if I kiss you again?”  
  
“At least five.”  
  
“Aiming low, Swan.”  
  
“Shut up,” she mumbled, reaching forward to grab the lapels of his jacket. He didn’t stumble when he moved forward, but his hand landed on her hips and it felt a bit like every inch of her was touching him and she could just make out several different whistles directed at them.

One of them was definitely Will.

It didn’t make much of a difference – Emma kissed Killian and Killian kissed Emma and they both ignored whatever it was Will was shouting from the carpet.

“Go check out your locker,” Emma said, voice shaking a bit when his mouth brushed over the curve of her jaw.

“There are several different major news outlets here,” Will called. “All of them witnessing whatever the hell it is you two are doing up there!”  
  
“Shut up, Scarlet,” Robin said. “But also we do have to acknowledge some of the fans you aren’t married to, Cap.”

Killian hummed, not moving immediately and Emma tried to keep her wrist out of his line of vision. It was a secret. Or something. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous.

“I think that’s my cue,” he muttered.

Emma nodded. “Please don’t mess up my event. And one breakaway goal.”  
  
“Done and done. Scouting report?”

Matt’s whole face lit up, and Emma had to bite her lip to make sure she didn’t embarrass herself at her own event. It didn’t take long – he wasn’t even five, but Matt knew as much about the Philadelphia Flyers as anyone who was paid to know that and most of his advice focused on _screening the net_ and _blocking the goalie_ and Killian nodded like he was listening to Arthur. He wouldn't have done that in front of Arthur.

“Thanks kid,” he said as soon as Matt ran out of facts and oxygen. “Don’t jump here, ok, Mattie?”  
  
Matt froze, several other shutter snaps echoing around them, and Killian made a face at Peggy before he jogged back down the steps and signed a few autographs and Emma’s phone buzzed, right on cue, as soon as they set foot in the team suite.

**I couldn’t have done any of it without you.**

Emma bit her lip again.

By her, admittedly, unofficial count, Arthur had smashed four whiteboards in the first two periods, pacing in the back of the bench with an expression that likely could have turned several humans to actual stone.

They weren’t even losing. They were tied, but there were only twenty minutes left and they hadn’t really looked _great_ yet and there was something to be said for season-opening jitters.

Mary Margaret used that word.

Emma couldn’t really talk.

She kept walking, tracing the same semicircle around the same chair in the team suite while several different pairs of eyes flitted her direction once every ten seconds.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually gasped the first time Killian got hit – slammed into the boards at the far end of the ice, which, as David was quick to point out, was probably for the best because Emma wasn’t sure what she’d have done if it had closer to them. Probably just fallen over or something.

“You’re going to do damage to your hamstrings,” David muttered, a wry smile on his face when he twisted in his own chair. He couldn't move much more. Both Peggy and Leo were on top of them and Leo had fallen asleep at some point in the second period, but Peggy seemed fascinated by the whole game and Emma was going to brag about that for at least the first month of the season.

“I don’t think that’s how the human body works,” Emma argued.

“Ah, that may be true. Don’t your feet hurt though?”  
  
“I haven’t really thought about that, honestly.”  
  
David nodded. “Yeah, that’s almost too obvious.”  
  
“Then you should not be asking questions you already know the answer to and let me continue pacing out a hole in this ugly carpet.”  
  
“It’s a coping device,” Mary Margaret reasoned. She hadn’t sat down since five minutes into the first, screaming a string of insults that definitely got more pointed with each season and Emma only paused pacing long enough in the second to record a snippet and sent to Ruby.

Her answering _ha_ had lasted for several scrolls of text message.

Anna had her phone out as well - panning around the room until Liam inevitably started yelling about _focusing on the ice_ and Regina kept pointing out that they could watch it on TV. “It’s delayed for us though,” Liam sighed.

“He’s really the most impatient person in the world,” Elsa added. “But seriously, Anna, on the ice and only the ice.”  
  
Anna groaned. “You guys are boring. I’m trying to give you the insider’s view.”  
  
“They don’t really need that,” Emma said. She swung her leg out when she rounded another corner, keeping her eyes trained on her feet so she wouldn’t lose her balance.

“Boring. Boring. Boring.”  
  
“They’ve got to score again, eventually, right?” Mary Margaret asked. Henry shook his head.  
  
“The Flyers are big on--”  
  
“--Shot blocking,” Matt yelled, and every single head in the entire team suite snapped towards him. His ears didn’t turn red, exactly, but he looked a little stunned and a little embarrassed and Emma had to stop pacing when he ran back towards her.

He wrapped both his arms around her waist, burying his head into her t-shirt and both Vankald sisters aw’ed in tandem. “They practiced that when they were kids,” Liam said, but he sounded a little proud too.

“How’d you know that, Mattie?” Emma asked. She pulled him with her when she moved closer to the windows, standing next to Mary Margaret in spots that she was sure, eventually, would just have their footprints embedded in the carpet.

That carpet was so ugly.

“Dad and me watched the game from last year. Vestrov...Vestrovs…”  
  
“Vestrovsky,” Roland finished. He dropped onto the exceptionally ugly carpet on Emma’s other side, the numbers on his cheeks a little streaky now, but Matt moved onto his legs as soon as he held his arms out. “He’s right too,” he added. “Gets in lanes and uses his legs and it’s ridiculous what he does to stop shots. The Flyers goalie should be buying him gifts after every game.”  
  
“A rather pointed opinion of the Flyers goalie.”  
  
“Not a bad team, might even threaten for a Wild Card this year, but their goalie is atrocious. I’d hate to play on a team like that.”  
  
“I think you’ve got some time.”  
  
“Never too early to scout. Ask Hook.”  
  
“I don’t need to be proved wrong on two different counts,” Emma said, brushing curls away from his eyes and earning a disgruntled noise for her efforts. Liam cursed. Loudly. In Norwegian.

And so did Anna.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she mumbled, picking her phone up from where it had fallen on the floor and Emma was glad she’d been distracted.

It wasn’t a bad hit – not by any means. It was a normal hit and a normal moment because this was _professional hockey_ , but the replay looked worse every time they showed it on that incredibly ostentatious scoreboard and Robin was actively trying to hold Will back from slamming his fist into that guy’s face.

Killian shook his head, leaning against the Rangers bench and Emma knew, reasonably, his eyes didn’t actually flicker towards the team suite, but she wanted them too and it was almost comforting to imagine.

She glanced at Matt, not sure what she was expecting to find, but it absolutely was not a kid pounding the glass in front of him shouting _two minutes_ like he was also the head referee. He had a very busy schedule that night – ref, coach, number one fan.

It was impressive.

“Hook better screen that goalie,” Roland mumbled, doing his best to keep Matt from jumping on his outstretched angle. “Or all that talk last season is going to be embarrassing.”

Emma laughed, a shaky, undeniably nervous sound because standing in front of the net wasn’t _dangerous_ , but it was the first time in a long time and she needed to come up with another word for fine.

“C’mere, babe,” she said, pulling Peggy away from David and muttering a string of nonsense in her daughter’s ear that was as much for her developmental growth as it was for Emma’s third period sanity. “You think we’re going to score? You think Dad’s going to score? We going to let that guy block all our shot attempts?”  
  
“Vestrovsky,” Henry repeated.

“Yeah, I really don’t care.”  
  
He grinned, nose scrunched and hand back in his hair and neither of them mentioned how nervous they both obviously were. Regina had taken up Emma’s pacing.

It took, exactly, forty-seven seconds, two rather obnoxious whistles and one faceoff win in the zone.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t know if she was breathing, really. But her arms didn’t threaten to strangle her own kid, so anything else felt like a victory.

Which is what they got. 

Robin won the faceoff, pushing the puck back towards Will who was still planting himself on the edge of the circle like he believed he was the offensive threat he absolutely was, and there was a collective gasp from all of them, including the two in Colorado, as soon as he pulled his stick back.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Emma mumbled. She clearly was not above begging the universe.

But the universe was, sometimes, a bit of a dick and consistently liked to surprise her and Vestrovsky couldn't block Will’s shot without threatening to break his own leg. And Killian was very good at screening the goalie.

He kept his stick on the ice, battling for position against two Philadelphia jerseys and Emma wasn’t sure he’d actually tipped the puck into the net until both Matt and Roland yelled “Dad” and “Hook” at the same time.

Figured.

Liam cursed again. In English.

Emma got some fairly good air on her jump, Peggy yelling and David screaming and Mary Margaret kept sniffling, a far cry from the vaguely ruthless cheers she’d been dishing out at puck drop.

“Goal, goal, goal, goal, goal,” Peggy chanted, an impressive show of context clues and they were obviously the best parents in the history of several different universes.

Emma was absolutely crying too.

All things considered, she thought that was fair, the cheering in the suite nothing compared to the cheering in the stands and the celebration on the ice, a rush of blue jerseys and discarded sticks and someone had lost one of their gloves.

It was probably Will.

But none of it mattered when Killian celebrated the same way he celebrated _every single goal_ , arms wide and mouth wider and Emma was sure she could _hear it_ in her soul or something equally absurd. She was going to cry for the first week of the season, at least.

Totally reasonable.

The entire goddamn Garden sang the goal song even after the next faceoff, chanting and shouting and they were going to buy frames for all the inevitable headlines the next morning.

“We did it,” Emma mumbled, pressing the words to Peggy’s shoulders and kissing across her face as Matt recounted the goal until the final buzzer went off.

She did, still, have a job to do and Merida was going to wind up being President by the end of it all, but Emma made it through the to-do-list and only kind of ran to the locker room, slightly frustrated by how out of breath she was at the end of it.

Emma spun on the spot, looking for someone or an assistant coach or possibly Kristoff so she could apologize for what they’d done to the locker room. There wasn’t anyone. At least not at first and it was a testament to the sound of her own pulse hammering in her ears that she didn’t hear his footsteps.  
  
“Swan?”

Emma turned again, nearly dislocating both her ankles in the process, and it was good neither of them were holding anything.

She basically launched herself at him.

Killian didn’t stumble backwards, didn’t even flinch or grunt or do anything except wrap his arms around her and pull her flush against his chest and neither one of them did anything except hold onto the other.

A little desperately.

They stood there for days or weeks or the rest of the goddamn season, gripping t-shirts and ignoring the water dripping from the ends of Killian’s hair because he’d totally just gotten out of the shower and probably had media to deal with, but he also had some kind of absurd sixth-sense when it came to Emma and she was going to be selfish for, like, at least five minutes.

Possibly six.

Maybe a round ten.

She really wanted to sneak out of the Garden.

Emma squeezed her arms tighter, fisting the back of his shirt while his fingers traced light patterns over her spine and the name plastered across her. She closed her eyes, trying to force the moment into every single corner of her memory and she refused to ever be held accountable for the absolute romantic drivel that seemed to just fall out of her as soon as she felt his lips brush over her temple.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she muttered, pushing up on her toes like being closer to his actual face would make the words mean more. Or like she wanted to make sure she saw his inevitable smile as soon as he processed the words.

Either or, really.

All of it was moot, though, as soon as he bent his knees and her feet weren’t touching the floor anymore, arms slung over his shoulders and fingers carding through his hair and _not_ kissing felt decidedly absurd. She felt his smile anyway.

They’d done this more times than she could count – hallways and those dark corners and their own goddamn bedroom and several dozen NHL arenas – but Emma was sure something flipped in that moment or turned back on and she was running out of energy puns rather quickly.

That was for the best.

Killian tilted his head slightly, tongue moving over her lower lip and fingers drifting dangerously under her shirt. Her toes dragged over the ground, but he didn’t let her back down and certainly didn’t let her fall, another cliché that felt a bit more like a guarantee.

“I love you too,” he whispered, dragging his lips back towards her neck and leaving open-mouthed kisses just behind her ear. “Wasn’t a breakaway though.”  
  
“I could not possibly care about that less.”  
  
“That’s rather sweeping, love.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m good with that. A fan of sweeping and series and it’s only the start of the season.”  
  
“This is getting pointed.”  
  
“And heavy-handed,” Emma agreed, appreciating whatever he did with his face when she laughed against him. “Plus another rather impressive display of upper-body strengths.”  
  
“She’s got to get the genetics from somewhere, right?”  
  
“Is that you suggesting I don’t have upper-body strength?”  
  
Killian shook his head, another quick kiss that evolved into a much longer kiss and they needed to move out of the middle of the hallway. If only so Emma could remember what gravity felt like. She seemed to have lost it somewhere in the middle of the winning and the screaming kids and the making out.

Mostly the making out.

“I’ve got all the belief in your upper-body strength, Swan,” Killian promised. “A little less in mine after seventeen minutes of ice time, but--”  
  
“--Why do you have that memorized?”  
  
“Don’t you?”  
  
“Obviously,” she said, swatting at his shoulder and rolling her eyes when he caught her around the wrist. “But I had to look at box scores for the site and the season tickets and...what?”

He didn’t blink, clearly breathing through his mouth when the one hand that was still, somehow, under her shirt stilled. Emma gritted her teeth.

And resolutely refused to look at him.

Her balance wasn’t perfect when Killian let her fall back to the ground, twisting against him in a way that, if he weren’t so busy staring at her left wrist, probably would have been way more distracting.

“Surprise,” Emma mumbled, waving her free hand through the air. Killian didn’t let go of her other one.

“Wasn’t that my locker? And...everyone else’s locker?”  
  
“That second part was a spur of the moment decision, really. Mostly because Rol and Herny’s sign was a spur of the moment decision and we figured it was the start of a new season and everyone else needed some balloons too.”  
  
“How’d you get the balloons into the Garden?”  
  
“There was cookie bribery involved.”  
  
“Ah, naturally.”  
  
Emma nodded, chewing on her lip when he didn’t say anything else and he was going to make her tell him. Stubborn ass. “There was a reason I didn’t have a sign too,” she started. “Although I do think Matt and Pegs would have been very angry if I stepped on their moment.”  
  
“Literally in some sign cases,” Killian grinned. He glanced up at her, staring from underneath his eyelashes and, honestly, the universe could suck it. That was absurd.

There was still a bandage on her wrist.

Emma might have been the worst at surprises. That was a disappointing discovery to make in the hallway.

“I think Peg’s going to start running marathons soon.”  
  
Killian chuckled, eyes flashing back to her wrist and his thumb had started moving at some point – right where Emma’s laces should have been. “She and I can start offseason training in Riverside Park.”  
  
“You say that like you’re not already plotting running routes right now in your head.”

He nodded, a smirk that was, at least partially, the reason for this whole preposterous, ridiculously romantic moment. “Where are your laces, Swan?”  
  
“You know that guy on Astor Place remembered me? From the first Cup and matching sets. He asked if I brought any champagne with me.”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
“Not this time.”  
  
“Maybe eventually though.”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“That confidence,” Killian muttered, a note of _something_ that may have been _all_ the reason behind the moment and Emma didn’t think before she pulled back the the edge of the bandage on her skin.

He didn’t say anything immediately, but she could see the muscles in his throat move when he swallowed and his shoulders dropped a bit when he exhaled, like he was getting rid of the weight of several different worlds.

It wasn’t really very big – partially because she was an enormous wimp and partially because she didn’t have time for anything more, but the numbers would be clear even if someone wasn’t looking for them. And even when she, eventually, put her laces back on her wrist.

“Something, something, I really like being able to make you kind of lose your head when I wear your number,” Emma said, thankful to the universe she’d been so intent on cursing earlier that her voice didn’t shake over the words.

Killian’s head snapped up, air rushing out of him and eyes frustratingly blue and there were, exactly, three droplets of water on his right temple. He didn’t try to brush them away. He just kept staring at Emma and she knew she was blushing, but she didn’t blink either, might have even tried to smile and it was all for naught when his lips crashed against hers.

His mumbled _I love you_ felt like it moved into her as soon as he kissed her and it was a ludicrous thought, but Emma had gotten his goddamn number tattooed on her wrist, so she figured it was a reasonable thought in the moment.

And, really, this making out was better than the last one.

She pressed back on her toes, hands with minds of their own and wants of their own and Killian did groan when her hips canted up. They stumbled backwards or forwards and direction didn't matter when Emma’s shoulders collided with the nearest wall, laughing and happy and so incredibly _confident_ she was certain she was made of it.

“It totally worked,” Killian said, another breathless promise in between kisses. There were a questionable number of kisses, and neither one of them heard the coughs or the scoffs or the camera shutters.

They weren’t really trying to hide, anyway.

They’d always been painfully bad at that.

They did, however, notice the two kids yelling their name and running into their bodies and yanking on clothing, neither one of them all that impressed with their parents’ propensity to making out in hallways.

“Goal,” Peggy shouted again, Killian’s eyes getting even wider and Emma shrugged.  
  
“I think we’re harping a little, but it’s impressive diction.”  
  
“Seriously,” he muttered, bending down to haul her against his side. “That was really good, Pegs. We’ll work on power play next, ok?”  
  
Emma scoffed, letting her head fall forward and he’d totally blown off media for this. “That seems like kind of a reach, don’t you think?”  
  
“Nah, parents of the year or decade or whatever.”  
  
“Decade, for sure.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous, isn’t it?” Robin asked, walking down the hallway with an arm around Roland’s shoulders and Henry a few steps behind. “You going to go back to media, Cap or you just going to suffer Lucas’ wrath later?”  
  
“I’ve got no plans to see Lucas, at all later, so that’s totally fine with me.”  
  
“Eh,” Emma objected. Matt was trying to talk about the goal again, clearly unimpressed by his sister’s speech patterns if it meant he wasn’t the sole focus of everyone’s attention. “There was apparently kind of a plan.”  
  
“And way more balloons uptown,” Will added. They were all, apparently, blowing off media.

“Do we know some kind of balloon supplier?” Killian asked.

“See, you make fun, but I’m fairly positive Gina does and probably glared at them until they gave her some kind of discount rate. Also Anna and Ariel spent a very long time decorating the restaurant today, the least you could do is not be a complete jerk about it.”  
  
“Complete jerk, huh?”  
  
“There are children present, Cap. Who just witnessed you and Em doing whatever it was you were doing.”  
  
“Making out,” Emma said, shrugging again when Will audibly gagged. “Go find your girlfriend, Scarlet.”  
  
“That’s what I was trying to do. Because I answered media questions. Because I am the most responsible athlete on this team and I would like the record to show that Cap’s very impressive, emotional goal would not have been possible without me.”  
  
“And you wouldn't have taken it if Cap didn’t tell you to get off the blue line last season,” Robin said.

“It was a really good goal,” Matt yelled, bobbing on the balls of his feet again and Emma took Peggy before he could jump at both her and Killian.

“That was only because I got a fantastic scouting report,” Killian grinned. He ignored the several pointed objections around him when he hauled Matt over his shoulder, winking at Emma. “We’ll watch it again later, ok?”  
  
“Can’t we do it tonight?”

“Somehow I doubt you’ll be awake that long.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“We’ll see, kid.”  
  
“Can we bet on it?”  
  
Will almost fell over. Henry and Roland both appeared to be choking on air.

“Why don’t we wait until after we eat for any money to exchange hands, ok, Mattie?” Emma asked, getting a grumbled agreement that was difficult to understand when spoken into Killian’s shoulder.

“You guys are a picture of responsibility,” Will laughed.  
  
“Seriously, Scarlet. Your girlfriend. Or a cab.”  
  
“That’s rude, Em. You wound me.”  
  
She rolled her eyes, but she was way too happy to actually be annoyed and Matt was talking a mile a minute again. “What did you do?” Emma asked.

Killian winked again. “We’re going to go answer some questions, Swan. That’s all. Five minutes, tops and then we’re spending less than an hour in this restaurant. Deal?”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
They spent three hours in the restaurant, but only because they kept laughing and posing for pictures and there were FaceTime phone calls to make and goals to reenact and Matt split an entire plate of onion rings with Emma before he, Roland and Henry fell asleep in one booth.

Anna took a picture of it.

And it was probably somewhere close to one in the morning when Emma felt her own eyelids fluttering, head lolling against Killian’s shoulder. Peggy had fallen asleep in the car uptown.

“You ready to go, love?” he asked softly, fingers brushing over the curve of her arm and back towards the side of her wrist.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This story is over. Look at that. As always, I cannot possibly overstate how much I appreciate and am blown away by any of you who have clicked or read or commented or sent messages. Anything. Honestly, the fact that you guys look at even one of the many, many, many words I am constantly throwing at the internet is incredible. 
> 
> And that you have looked at the many thousands of hockey-related words I absolutely shoved at the internet is even more wonderful. This is my favorite thing to write, bar none, and there are still a ton of one-shots in my docs. I will probably never "officially" close the metaphorical book on this verse, so if you've got thoughts or feelings or just want to talk about hockey with me, don't ever worry if you're annoying me. I promise, I am stunned by it every single time. 
> 
> Come flail on [Tumblr](http://welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com/) if you're down


End file.
